


Never a Doe

by Zazou



Series: Never A Doe [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A.U., ASoIaF Kink Meme, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Not actually incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-02-13 01:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 47,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2131194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zazou/pseuds/Zazou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Baratheon comes to Winterfell with the royal party and becomes engaged to Robb Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't get this prompt out of my head because I kept thinking about how Sansa would have developed in the royal family. I think that she would have struggled to please both her parents. 
> 
> In the books I sensed that a lot of her excitement about going south was based on wanting something exotic and different so that’s why I made southron Sansa not have a big problem with the prospect of moving up North.

The day after the royal party arrived in Winterfell Sansa asked Robb Stark to show her the crypts. She could tell that the lordling was surprised by her request but he was too well bred to question a princess. They started at the lowest and oldest level with Robb telling her tales of the ancient Kings of the North entombed there and slowly worked their way up. She took in the sepulchers of the Starks and the majestic statues of the dead with iron swords in their hands and snarling direwolves at their feet. 

Sansa shivered as they walked along the long narrow path their footfalls echoing throughout the musky cavernous complex. There was definitely a spine-tingling otherworldly air about the place. If it weren’t for the fact that her guides were the Stark heir and his direwolf she would had been worried that the Old Gods would place a curse on her for entering this sacred space. The huge ironwood door let out an eerie groan as Robb opened it and they clambered up the twisting stone stairs. 

Finally they came to the resetting place of the most recently deceased Stark, Lady Lyanna. Sansa eyed the statue soaking up every detail. So this was her father’s long lost love, the ghost that haunted her parents’ union. The torchlight cast long harsh shadows on the stone face making her look gaunt and dreary.

“Is it an accurate likeness?” She asked leaning in as close as she dared. Greywind trotted up to the statue and sniffled it intrigued. 

“I’m not sure, my princess.” Robb replied snapping his fingers and bringing his direwolf to heal. “But many say that my sister looks just like her.

She furrowed her brow at that. Lord Stark’s only daughter was a gangly horse faced creature. How could her father scorn her radiant mother over the memory of such a woman? Mayhaps he loved her for her spirit. 

Sansa often thought about what kind of man her father would have become had his ladylove not been taken from him. A happier man, a man who drank less and had no need for whoring or wenching. The kind of man who would never strike his wife or children. Yes, he wouldn’t have been king but that wouldn’t have mattered. It was clear to her that her father cared little for the crown. He would give up the crown for his Lyanna in a heartbeat. She found the thought of loving someone that much both tantalizing and terrifying. 

“He still misses her.” She whispered, more to herself than anyone else. 

“I’m sure he does. But if he had not lost her he never would have had you or your siblings.” 

Sansa made a noncommittal noise and avoided his gaze. He was clearly trying to be kind and lighten the mood but she knew in her heart of hearts that if the Gods gave her father the choice he would gladly trade his children for his beloved Lyanna. But she could never tell Robb that. It would reflect poorly on her father, their king. 

“They had already picked the name for their first child.” She mused playing absently with the chain of her teardrop shaped pendant. 

It had been a name day present from her Uncle Renly, the lapis lazuli matched her eyes perfectly and the tiny diamonds encircling it twinkled in the torchlight. 

“Sansa for a girl and Steffon for a boy. He named me Sansa because I have black hair like her.” 

Her mother and grandfather hadn’t approved. A princess of the Iron Throne bearing a name of the First Men? It was unheard of. But her father had insisted. 

“He says if I ever have a brother with black hair he’ll name him Steffon.” 

When she was younger she’d often wished for a dark-haired sibling so that she wouldn’t be the lone stag in a pride of golden lions. The two stood in silence for a while. Normally Sansa would never break decorum like this, bring up morbid subjects, letting the conversation die etc. but somehow she felt comfortable enough not to mind. 

“Well if my aunt had not been kidnapped my mother would have married my uncle Brandon and I would never have been born.” 

She’d never thought of that. Even a blind man could see that Lord and Lady Stark loved one another. It seemed the Gods had decided that only one of the childhood friends could have love and happiness in this life. This struck her as terribly unfair. Mayhaps her mother and grandfather were right. Mayhaps the Gods truly did know no mercy. 

\--

That night her father rose from his chair his face flushed with wine and announced that she would wed Robb finally uniting the House Baratheon with House Stark. 

After the feast her mother fumed and swore to her that she would never let the marriage happen. Sansa listened to her mother rant nodding dutifully in all the right places but truthfully she didn’t understand. Yes, she was anxious about living so far from home but aside from its remoteness she didn’t see anything objectionable about the North. Sure, the clothes were a bit darker and plainer and there was a distinct lack of bards and mummers but the air was fresh and clean unlike the putrid stench of King’s Landing and the nature had a kind of savage beauty to it. If Catleyn Tully could make the transition from South to North than surely Sansa could as well. She was a lioness after all. 

Also, whom would her mother have her marry instead? She’d already rejected the proposal of the Tyrell heir, or “the broken dog boy” as she called him. Robin Arryn was a spoiled sickly child, and Edmure Tully was older and infamous for his floppy cock. Sansa supposed there was always Quentyn Martell but he wasn’t an heir and the Martell’s loathed the Lannisters. Plus if half of what people said was true a Dornish husband would be far too salacious for her taste.

She didn’t know Robb well but he was handsome with his sky blue eyes and his rich russet curls. He was far kinder to his younger siblings than Joffery ever was. Mayhaps that meant he would be a good father when the time came. She could do far worse. Honestly, she was grateful that the Starks had not picked her younger sister for their heir’s bride. As she glanced over a Myrcella she felt a familiar bitterness gnawed at her stomach. Why would the Gods give her a mother so beautiful and make her take after her father? Even now, tired, scowling and fueled by rage her mother was a sight to behold, a golden queen. It was a true pity that all her loveliness was wasted on Sansa’s father. Mayhaps if she was lucky the maiden would grate her a fraction of her mother’s grace and poise. 

“No lioness will ever be forced to rote away in this wasteland!” 

She nodded smoothing out the invisible wrinkles in her golden silk skirts. Her mother always told her that despite their Baratheon name she and her sister were lionesses not does. A doe may be graceful and demure but it was prey. In this world, you couldn’t afford to be mistaken for prey. 

That night as she tossed and turned in her bed Sansa found herself thinking of ways to incorporate the Stark colors into her wardrobe. 

\------

Honestly, Sansa didn’t care for hunting. But Joffrey was forbidden it and neither Tommen or Myrcella showed the slightest interest and Sansa thought it sad that her father couldn’t share his passion with any of his children. So one day on a whim she’d asked to join him. Her mother had said that it was inappropriate but her father was so pleased that for once Sansa didn’t heed her mother’s words. 

Her father praised her for horsemanship and crowed with pride whenever she took down an animal calling her “his little huntress.” She hated the sight and smell of blood and the men were always making bawdy jokes that she had to pretend not to understand, but she would endure far worse if it meant seeing her father smile. Plus this particular hunting trip would give her an excuse to talk to Robb, her future lord husband. 

As she prepared for the day’s activities she tried to maintain her ladylike appearance. She rubbed lavender oil on the insides of her wrists and of the nape of her neck so she wouldn’t stink of horses and sweat. She also had her handmaiden Jyzene braid her hair with golden ribbons and wrap it around her head like a coronet so that it wouldn’t get tangled in the wind. She chose to wear one of her favorite riding gowns, the black one with the yellow stripes on the skirt and sleeves. Joffery always said she looked a bumblebee in it but her father liked it. Besides someone in her family had to wear their house colors it was only proper. Satisfied she donned her black sable lined cloak and matching gloves and went out to join the hunting party.

When Sansa entered the courtyard she found that all the men were ready to leave and impatiently awaiting their King’s arrival. Apparently, none had warned them that her father slept late. As she mounted her palomino mare Jonquil, she overheard the Greyjoy lad saying something about wanting to “put some iron in the princess.” 

“That’s my betrothed you’re talking about!” Robb hissed to his companion. 

She smiled her father never defended her mother’s honor like that. Their eyes meet across the courtyard. She flushed and he looked away bashfully. Ever since their engagement had been announced there had been a kind of tension between them a combination of anxiety and anticipation. Suddenly every word they said to one another had great weight and meaning. From the corner of her eye, she could see Robb leading his bay palfrey over to her. Sansa straightened her back and held her head high eager to appear every inch the princess regardless of her nerves. She must be a lioness, not a doe. 

“Good Morning, my princess.” 

“Good Morning, my lord.” 

“That’s a beautiful bow.” 

“Thank you. Father gave it to me for my last name day.” 

She replied trying in vain to hide the pride in her voice. It wasn’t ladylike to be boastful. She smiled and ran her gloved fingers over the carved stags prancing around her bow. To others, it might be just a piece of yew wood but to her it was a symbol of her father’s love and approval. Robb opened his mouth to reply but at just that moment her father barreled in demanding everyone’s attention. Now the hunt could begin.

\----

Sansa spent much of the hunt asking Benjen Stark about the Wall. Robb rode along side them asking Benjen to repeat his favorite anecdotes and regaling her with different bits of northern folklore. It was clear that he was proud of his brave adventurous uncle and his face lite up as he recounted Old Nan’s tales. Sansa was intrigued she’d never heard of ice dragons, grumpkins or snarks before and Robb’s enthusiasm was infectious. 

As she listened to him spin the yarn of Bael the Bard his eyes dancing with excitement, Sansa found herself thinking of their future children. She decided that they would do what Lady Lyanna and her father had intended and use both Stormlander and Northern names. But should they do Northern for the boys and Southorn for the girls or vice versa? Or they could always alternate Northern, Southorn, Northern, Southorn regardless of gender. She’d give him sons named Rickard, Lyonel, Torrhen, and Durran and daughters named Evanda, Jocelyn, Lyra, and Elenie. She’d make up for Winterfell’s lack of bards by teaching all her children to play musical instruments. Mayhaps if they were lucky some of her children would be graced with the Lannister looks. A pack of golden wolves.

“A fox!” Theon shouted bringing her out of her reverie. 

He charged after it into the woods the rest of the hunters racing after him. By the time she caught up, Theon stood boastfully next to his prize, grinning from ear to ear.

“Well done, lad.” Lord Stark praised. 

Her father nodded gruffly reluctant to give praise to a Greyjoy. Then, they heard a rustling sound and a small fawn jumped out from the bushes. All the hunters scrambled trying in vain to capture it by hand or shoot it down. 

“Sansa! Go after it!” Her father shouted his voice loud and booming waving his sword in the fawn’s direction. 

“Show them how it’s done!”

Instantly, Sansa urged Jonquil into a gallop and raced after the fawn. They careened through the underbrush jumping over fallen logs and rocky creeks, weaving between the trees. Soon she caught up with the fawn. She swiftly dismounted strung her bow and was about to take her shot when the fawn spotted her and dashed away. 

Suddenly, Grey wind leaped in front of the little fawn cornering it. Before her came Robb, bending down and lifted up the small creature. He strode over to Sansa and gently handed her fawn, cradling it as if it were a babe.

“For you, my princess.” He said with a playful bow and winning grin.

The quivering fawn looked up at her its dark pleading eyes begging for mercy. This right here was the true reason Sansa misliked hunting so. It was one thing to shot at a target in the practice yard but it was quite another to end an innocent creature’s life. 

“Looks like we’ll be having venison tonight!” Her father laughed as he rode up behind them. 

Hearing that, Sansa quickly released the creature and watched it scamper away into the brush. As it bounded out of sight she cursed her weak gentle heart. A true lioness would have slain the beast. She could feel Robb’s quizzical gaze on her and flushed. He probably thought she was a soft simpering southron now, another Lynesse Hightower, a spoiled princess unfit for the wilds of the North, unworthy of bearing the Stark name. 

“It did not deserve death.” She said quietly her voice small but strong. 

“Whatever pleases you, my princess.” He replied with an enigmatic nod. 

\-----

After Bran’s fall a dark shadow fell over all of Winterfell. Lady Stark was deep in grief and had locked herself away in her injured son’s room Lord Stark was cold and distant leaving the rest of the Stark children floundering. As the eldest Robb was trying to keep them together and as a result didn’t have time to court her. Not that she blamed him. She couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if Myrcella or Tommen or even Joffrey were in Bran’s place.

Even though she wasn’t spending much time with her betrothed he was never far from her thoughts. Now, his mother and brother Bran were lost to the world and soon his father and wild sister would be away in King’s Landing while his bastard half-brother traveled to the Wall. She couldn’t leave him too. How could she go back to her life in King’s Landing attending tourney and watching Margeary Tyrell fawn over her brother while her betrothed faced this tragedy alone? In King’s Landing she was merely a decorative jewel in her family’s crown, but here in Winterfell she could be truly useful. 

Sansa knew she couldn’t make up for the loss of his dispersing family but she could try. She could sit vigil with his mother, pray for Bran, care for baby Rickon and do a million other little things to help ease his burden. It would mean being away from her family and she would miss them, well apart from Joffrey, but the Starks would soon be her family too and she had a duty to them. 

Mother wouldn’t like it and the thought of disappointing her mother made her stomach churn but she knew what she needed to do. Determined, Sansa wrapped herself in her crimson dressing gown and crept out of her bedchamber in search of her father. 

Unsurprisingly, she found her father with her uncles in the kitchens. Her father and Uncle Tyrion were giggling like a pair of handmaiden feasting on cold ham and warm ale while her Uncle Jaime stood guard in the corner looking as though he wanted to stab himself with a dull blade. 

“What are you doing up this late lass?” Her father asked brushing the scraps of meat from his ale-soaked beard. 

She stepped forward out of the doorway and into the light. She cleared her throat and raised her head looking him straight in the eyes. Remember, she thought, a lioness not a doe. 

“Father, I would like to stay at Winterfell for a while longer.” 

“What?” He barked frowning and giving her a puzzled look. 

“Whatever for child? You’ll miss the Hand’s tournament.” 

“And I was planning on crowning you, my Queen of Love and Beauty.” Jaime added confident as ever. 

She knew he was lying, he’d crown his sister like always. Not that she could blame him her mother was the most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms after all, even if her father refused to see it. Ignoring the interruptions Sansa pressed on. 

“My betrothed will be taking over the duties of his father and with Lady Stark tending to Bran…I…” She looked up at her father with pleading eyes.

“He needs me.” 

Her kinsmen were silent for a moment. 

“That’s very admirable, Sansa.” Her Uncle Tyrion said raising his tankard to her and spilling half it’s contents onto the kitchen table. 

“Aye, you have a good heart, my girl.” Her father concurred his eyes blurry from sentiment and drink. 

“Your Grace,” Jaime cut in his tone even but forceful. “I’m not sure the Queen would…” 

“Oh bugger her!” Her father roared smashing his fist on the wooden table jostling the plates of honeyed meats about. 

Uncle Tyrion burst into another fit of drunken giggles. Gods, his laughter was even higher pitched than Myrcella’s. 

“Aye Jaime, bugger her!” He cried with a cheeky grin impervious to his brother’s death glare. 

Sansa rolled her eyes. Really, was foul language that amusing? Something she thought her uncle was Tommen’s age at heart, with his childish japes and immature tastes. She would miss him, though. The Northerns had many strengthens but humor wasn’t one of them. It would be a while before she heard such spirited laughter again. 

Suddenly somber her father motioned for her to come closer. She obeyed sidestepping the gleeful imp. He leaned forward taking her small clean hands in his large sticky ones. 

“You’ll make the Stark lad a fine wife.” He said giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. 

\-----

Sansa wasn’t sure what she’d expected Robb’s reaction to be but this, slack-jawed silence was not it. She nervously twirled the sapphire ring on her finger around and around waiting for a response. It honestly hadn’t occurred to her that he would reject her plan but perhaps it should have. After all what kind of guest imposes on a family in crisis? That was what she was after all a guest, not family, not yet. 

“Are you not pleased, my lord?” She finally said embarrassed by how small and soft her voice was. 

Her mother never sounded so timid even when confronted her husband’s mighty fury. She must be a lioness always. 

“Of course I’m pleased.” He replied rubbing his auburn beard. He’d started growing the beard after Bran’s fall and Sansa found it rather comely. It made him look rugged and manly. 

“I just…I would have thought you’d be eager to leave. I know we haven’t been the best hosts of late and…” 

She shook her head and took a step toward him. 

“You need me here.” 

As soon as the words left her mouth she worried she'd presumed too much but something flickered in his bright blue eyes, his face softened and for a moment he actually looked his age. Robb took her hand and raised it to his lips and placed a light kiss on the back of it. 

“Thank you.” He whispered his breath hot on her hand. 

She flushed under the intensity of his gaze. This wasn’t going to be easy but the warmth in Robb’s voice told Sansa she’d made the right decision.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I intended this to be a one shot but because of the response I’ve gotten I’m expanding it. 
> 
> However updates still be slow since I’m in the middle of applying to grad school.

Sansa sighed and stared down at the piece of parchment in front of her. What should she write to her mother? She knew she was anger about the situation and would ignore anything positive she was told. Her mother refused to believe that Sansa’s prolonged stay had been her own idea and blamed it on her father. 

“Remember,” She’d whispered sweetly as she brushed her hair. “Anyone who isn’t us is an enemy.” 

Those words might seem harsh to some but her mother had been brought up during a time of rebellion when loyalties were ever shifting. Also, she’d spent most of her life in King’s Landing where such words were true. The spider, Littlefinger, everyone at court had an agenda, even Sansa’s dear friend Margaery. Sure, she and Margaery would visit orphanages together and share lemon cakes in the palace gardens but she could never confide in her, not truly. 

Then again the only people she ever spoke the whole truth to were her sister, her Uncle Renly, and her handmaiden Jyzene Hill, who was one of her Great Uncle Tygett’s bastards. Sansa needed to shelter sweet Tommen and she couldn’t bear to disappoint her parents or grandfather, so that eliminated them. As for Joffery and her Lannister uncles, well telling them a secret would only end in cruel and relentless teasing. Both she and Myrcella found that out the hard way. 

Sansa scanned the beginning of her letter. So far she’d written scathing comments about Lady Stark’s drab and dingy apparel, and a lively account of wild Rickon’s latest antics. Those were safe topics. Her mother always liked hearing about the failings of others. She’d also put in that she’d started teaching Robb cyvasse, but failed to mention that she and Jyzene had befriended the steward’s daughter Jeyne Poole or that her archery was improving under Ser Rodrik’s tutelage.

Now it was time to move on to the big news, the attack on Bran. But how much should she put in? Robb had sworn her to secrecy but it seemed wrong to keep it from her entirely. After all, she was the queen and word was bound to reach her eventually. Yes, she decided it would be fundamentally wrong not to tell her mother. Robb maybe her future lord husband, but her mother was her queen. Sansa wrote a detailed account of the night of the attack. Mayhaps her mother would see something they didn’t. She was very clever and far shrewder than Sansa’s future good mother. 

When Robb had first described the assassin’s blade to her she had demanded to see it and was shocked when her suspicions were confirmed. It was her father’s, a prize he’d won from Littlefinger in a bet on Joffery’s twelfth name day. Lady Stark seemed to take this as proof that it was her family’s doing. But Sansa was sure that no one in her family would be foolish enough to arm an assassin with such a recognizable weapon. Also, where was the motive? 

“Mayhaps he saw something he shouldn’t?” Robb suggested but that didn’t ring true to Sansa. 

Her mother and uncles often spoke too freely and could have uttered something damning but if they were overheard they would have simply silenced Bran with a bribe or threat. Also, why would they be in the First Keep, to begin with? It made no sense. Lady Stark was clearly maddened by grief and desperate for answers. 

Unfortunately Sansa hadn’t come up with any other leads. If someone wanted to attack House Stark the natural choice would be Robb, not Bran. Still mayhaps some rival saw Bran’s fall as an opportunity to weaken the Starks and seized it. When she’d asked Robb about their enemies he’d insisted that they had none. She was shocked that an heir to one of the great houses could be so naïve. Everyone has enemies. Based on what Maester Luwin had taught her about the history of the North, the Boltons seemed a natural enemy of House Stark. But there was no proof pointing to them. 

She paused and sharpened her eagle feather quill. Should she tell her mother of Lady Stark’s suspicions? No, that would only exacerbate the situation. Her mother would be enraged and take it as a personal slight. The accusations had irked Sansa and she was far more even-tempered than her mother. At first, she’d liked her future good mother and thought her an honorable wife and mother. But that was before she started casting aspersions against House Lannister and traipsing off on some preposterous quest while her son lay at the Stranger’s door. Now she was convinced that she was as mad as her sister the Lady Arryn. Hopefully, Robb didn’t have any of the Tully madness lying dormant in his blood. 

Sansa frowned down at her letter and fiddled with her large butterfly ring. Even though she knew it would only stoke the fires of animosity, it felt wrong to leave something so important out. While she may not always tell her family of her thoughts and feelings she’d never withheld important information before. 

She sighed and wrapped her arms around her waist. This whole situation made her feel ill at ease. It was even starting to affect her health. Ever since Sansa had woken up she’d suffered from dull throbbing cramps. She was sure it was the physical manifestation of her guilt and anxiety eating her up. The sooner it was resolved the better. She finished the letter by telling her that Bran had awakened but would probably never walk again. Then she sprinkled on some lavender oil folded the parchment neatly in half and sealed it with crimson wax. 

\----- 

On her way back from the rookery Rickon had bumped into Sansa and promptly dragged her outside demanding that he play with her in the snow. And so she found herself building a castle out of the snow with the youngest Stark. As they worked the castle turned it slowly turned into the Red Keep, with it’s seven massive drum towers and iron ramparts. She was just starting to shape Maegor’s Holdfast when Shaggy dog leapt up. She turned and saw Grey Wind scampering up over the hill with Robb and Theon in toe. 

She smoothed down her wind swept hair cursing herself for going with the Northern style this morning and licked her chapped lips. Under normal circumstances, it would be unacceptable for her to be seen by her betrothed in such a state but things were much less formal here in the north. Honestly, it made her uncomfortable. Her finery showed her status and accentuated her beauty without it, she felt weak and naked. Still, they were fast approaching and she couldn't let them see her with her defenses down. 

“Hello.” She cooed she holding her hand out for the direwolf to sniff. So far the Stark's pets had been friendly towards her but it was always best to check with wild animals. 

Grey Wind sniffed her hand and she cautiously scratched under his chin. 

“You know, their mother was killed by a stag.” Theon drawled. “When we found her shards of antlers were still buried in her throat.” 

Sansa frowned and straightened the cuff of her rabbit skin glove. She didn’t miss the symbolism in the story. It would have been rather hard to even without Theon’s pointed look. 

For some reason the slimy kraken didn’t like her. Jyzene japed that it was probably because he was in love with Robb himself. Whatever his reasons Sansa simply wouldn’t let him sabotage her relationship with Robb or undermine her position. She would have to either make him an ally or destroy him. 

“Well, I’m sure she’d be glad that you’re taking such good care of her pups.” She said crisply with a polite thin-lipped smile before turning her attention to Robb. 

“Would you care to join us, my lord?” 

Robb grinned and bowed to her playfully. 

“I’d be honored, my princess.” 

Theon snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Gods, it’s bad enough that you let her best you at cyvasse but now you’re playing baby games with her.” 

Robb scowled and kicked him in the shin. While Sansa shot him a haughty look. She knew Robb didn’t let her win no matter what Theon said. He had a good mind for strategy but was a beginner while she’d been playing against her Uncle Tyrion since Joffrey's tenth name day. Tyrion had given a cyvasse set to the crown prince as a gift but he’d reject it and so it had become hers. 

Sansa stood up and walked over to the other side of the castle to start on the White Sword Tower. She shivered and wrapped her fur cloak tighter around herself. During her stay at Winterfell she’d adjusted to the climate but for some reason, the cold was bothering her more today. 

“Blood!” Rickon shouted pointing at the patch of snow where she’d been sitting. 

There it was a smattering of crimson blood tainting the fresh white snow. Oh, Gods no. No, not here, not now. Why now? 

“My princess, are you hurt?” Robb asked looking both puzzled and concerned. 

The cramps, the blood, the sudden sensitivity to cold, it could only mean one thing. 

“Well, well" The sound of Theon's smug voice made her stomach churn. "It looks like our little princess has become a woman.” 

Sansa stared at the incriminating spot flooded with shame. She needed her mother desperately, but she was nowhere to be found.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is inspired by Robb’s canon rash behavior towards his love interest.

“Yahoo!” Bran cried as he trotted about in circles.

Sansa grinned as she watched the carefree young boy. Since he’d woken up Bran had barely left his chambers and now here he was riding through the Wolf’s wood, with the wind in his hair and the wintery sun shining on his gaunt face. This was such a proud moment for him. The birds were chirping, the air was crisp but not biting and the snow had yet to turn into sludge. Even the horse, a young white mare called Dancer, seemed to have a spring in her step as if she sensed her master’s happiness. 

“You’re doing very well!” Sansa called out from her perch on a nearby mossy rock. 

“That new saddle is truly a miracle. Is it not my lord?” She said turning to Robb for his response. 

Unfortunately he and Theon were wrapped up in their own conversation. She could make out the words “blood for blood, kingslayer, and war.” She clenched her jaw and twisted her butterfly ring around her finger. Ever since word had reached Winterfell that the Stark men had been slaughtered and that the Riverlands were being harried Sansa had become an outsider. Remember what grandfather always says, she told herself, a lion does not consider himself with the opinions of sheep. She turned back around and saw that Bran had ridden off. Well, then what was the point in staying? Sansa hopped off the rock and brushed off her indigo skirts. 

“Well, I think I’ll go for a walk.” She announced to none in particular. Her companions were too engaged in their heated whispering to pay her any attention. She sauntered off her emerald colored cloak billowing behind her. 

As Sansa strolled through the woods she tried to focus on enjoying the pine scent air and the sounds of the babbling brook but her mind kept returning to politics. She felt as if she should defend her family, and justify their actions but she simply couldn’t. Yes, Lady Stark shouldn’t have kidnapped Uncle Tyrion but the retribution was harsh. It was almost as if her grandsire wanted to start a war. Had he forgotten about his own granddaughter’s position? A lioness in the wolf’s den. Wasn’t he concerned or her safety? Was this why her mother had wanted her to return south? To spare her this sickening feeling. 

As she reached to top of a small hillock she spotted Winterfell through the trees. She sighed as she gazed at the castle. They must all hate her, everyone from Robb down to the charwoman. Robb… She sighed and walked down the hill further into the forest. So far he was acting as if nothing had happened but that could only last so long. Everyone knew that their betrothal was over. His mother had captured her uncle and her other uncle had attacked his father. There was no coming back from that. 

Sansa plucked a purple wildflower and slowly ripped the petals off one by one as she trudged along. Jyzene tried to comfort her by talking of all of her potential southorn suitors, Dickon Tarly, Horas Redwyne, and the like. She smiled and nodded but no matter how often her handmaiden extolled the virtues of the Arbor, or the beauties of the Reach Sansa’s couldn’t rid herself of the taste of bitter disappointed like ash in her mouth. She didn’t love Robb not truly, not the way her father loved Lyanna, and a part of her was glad for it. Her mother always told her that love was a sweet poison. But there was something between them, a companionable flirtation that made her heart flutter and her cheeks redden. She liked him more than she’s ever let herself like a suitor before. He may not be a knight but he was definitely true. In all her time at Winterfell she’d never seen him drink to excess, or engaged in whoring or wenching. As she watched him he cared for Bran and taking on his father’s responsibilities she’d fantasized about their future together. Her hosting northern lords and men of the Night’s Watch enchanted them with her charms while Robb looked on with pride. Them riding together his arms wrapped around her waist her back pressed up against his firm broad chest, even swimming together in the Goodwood's hot springs. Creating their golden pack of wolves, full of fair-haired girls playing the high harp and dulcimer and fierce boys with the strong Baratheon jaw and fiery Tully locks. 

Suddenly she heard the sounds of raised voices coming from somewhere deeper in the woods. Cautiously she followed the voices. She couldn’t make out what they were saying but the accents were coarse, broad and different from any that she’d heard before. As she drew closer she recognized that one of the voices was highborn. Mayhaps Theon or Robb had run into some locals. But the voice was high pitched a bit like young Brans.There were a thousand innocent explanations but for some reason, her stomach filled with dread and she quickened her pace. 

She quickly stumbled upon the scene, a small band of bedraggled hoodlums were holding Bran and Robb was approaching them with his sword drawn. Fear coursed through Sansa making her stomach flip and her legs weak. Hands trembling she pulled out the small dagger from her belt, a gift from her Uncle Jaime she’d hoped to never use. She took a ragged breath and stepped out into the clearing. Time to show her merit as a lioness. 

“In the name of my father Robert Baratheon The First of his Name King of the Andals, the…” 

“We kneel to no king wench!” The tallest vagabond spat through his crooked yellow teeth. 

Wildings, Robb, and Benjen Stark had told her many horror stories about them. The wilding woman lunged toward her. Sansa was immediately engulfed in her stench a combination of spoilt milk and manure that made her eyes burn. The savage ripped the lapis lazuli pendant off Sansa’s neck and breaking it’s gold chain. 

“This should pay for our passage to Dorne.” She said her filthy fingernails gripping into Sansa's arms like an eagle’s talons. 

“What else you got girl?” She asking eyeing her finery greedily. 

“Get your hands off her!” Robb shouted his voice deep and rough like Grey Wind’s growl. 

He grabbed the woman by her tousled hair and threw her to the ground where she fell on a pile of rocks. Before Sansa could catch her breath another wilding charged at Robb wielding an axe. Robb ducked the axe and sliced the wilding’s throat with his sword. 

“Robb!”

They both whipped around to see the wilding man with his knife pressed to Bran’s throat. 

“Drop the blade!” He commanded his eyes boring into Robb. 

Grateful that he hadn’t noticed her dagger Sansa hide it under her cloak. Mayhaps it could be useful later.

“No, don’t.” Bran croaked wriggling in a vain attempt to escape his captor. 

Gods, he was brave. If Tommen or Joffery they were in his place would have shat themselves by now. 

“Do it!” The wilding hissed tightening his grip on Bran. 

Slowly with his eyes locked on the wilding Robb lower his bloody sword to the ground. Time to unleash her best weapon. Sansa cleared her throat and stepped forward.

“Pardon me Ser,” She said her voice smooth as the finest silk. 

Both Robb and the wilding stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. Undeterred she smiled sweetly as if he was The Knight of the Flowers rather than a scraggly ruffian covered in his own excrement. 

“I am a Lannister, my house is very powerful and very rich. If you release the boy unharmed we can come to an arrangement.”

Suddenly an arrow flew from nowhere and pierced the wilding’s chest. He gasped released his grip on Bran and collapsed to the ground revealing Theon with his bow drawn. Sansa immediately rushed to Bran’s side. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes.” 

She noticed an ugly gash on his leg. 

“It doesn’t hurt.” 

Of course, it didn’t, he couldn’t feel anything there but that didn’t mean the cut wasn’t dangerous. Robb scooped him up in his arms as if he weighted no more than a rag doll. Gods he was strong. 

“Brave little lad.” 

She turned to see Theon pointing his loaded bow at the kneeling wilding woman.

“On the Iron Islands you’re not a real man till you’ve killed you’re first enemy.” He explained with a sly grin and a maddening glint in his eye. 

“Well done!” 

What vile savages! How were the Ironborn any better than the wildings? Truly, how? 

“Have you lost your mind?” 

Sansa shivered. She’d never heard Robb’s voice so cold. 

“What if you’d missed?” 

“Then he would have killed you and cut Bran’s throat.” 

“You don’t have the right!” 

“The right to what? Save your brother’s life?” 

“I had the situation under control.” Sansa said tartly. 

“Oh for fucks sake!” Theon exclaimed exasperated. “With all due respect princess, if I hadn’t come in when I did he would have to bend you over and—“  
“What about her?” Robb interrupted pointing to the wilding woman. She crawled over to them on her knees her hands clasped together. 

“Give me my life milord and I’m yours!” 

Sansa knew what her mother would do. She’d have the savage killed, mayhaps even put her head on a spike as a warning to others. But as Sansa looked in the pitiful woman’s large dark eyes she could not wish her dead. 

“We’ll keep her alive.” 

Theon look absolutely crushed but Sansa felt oddly relieved. It must be her weak doe heart. 

\------

The crystal on the high altar bathed Sansa in a rainbow light as she knelt before the painted figures of the Seven. Pools of wax clotted the niches below each of the statues. During the past few days, Sansa hides in the small sept whenever she could to escape the accusatory looks and whispers of the Northerns. Since Lady Stark’s departure she and Jyzene were the only one’s who worshipped here so she was guaranteed solitude. After the events of the day she needed at little peace and quiet. 

Sansa lit three candles. The first to the Maiden to watch over her sister, the next candle was for the Crone, that she might use her lamp to guide them out of this political quagmire. Then, finally, one for the Stranger. Very few people ever lit candles at the altar of the Stranger but she lite one for the wildings that Theon and Robb had killed who were now in his keeping. 

She fiddled with the seven-pointed star at the end of her rosary and made herself take a deep breath. The events of the day had rattled her. She’d seen men die during tourneys, the accidents were always Joffrey's favorite part. But for all the squalor of King’s Landing, and the talks of plots and betrayals in the Red Keep this was the first time Sansa had ever truly feared for her life. 

“I don’t want to disturb your prayers.” 

She turned her head and saw Robb standing awkwardly in the entryway. It was strange, earlier with the wildings, he’d seemed like the warrior incarnate but now he was just a boy again. She stood up and turned to face him. 

“I just came to see if you had recovered.” 

She should be the one asking if he was alright. After all, he’d just killed his first enemy. Should she ask him how he felt about that? No, as much as she wanted to that wouldn’t be appropriate, not now. Sansa wasn’t his betrothed anymore, just an unwelcome guest at best and a hostage a worst. 

“I’m quite well, my lord.” 

“Robb.” He corrected. 

“Robb.” 

“I… umm…here.” 

He pulled a clumsy wreath of jonquils out from behind his back and thrust it at her. Jonquils, the sight of the sunny flowers made a smile cross her lips. She’d told Robb of her love of the tale of Florian and Jonquil, she’d even named her horse after the heroine. Sansa gingerly took it from his hands afraid that she would break the makeshift wreath. The handiwork was awkward the flowers tied together by their stems haphazardly. He’d clearly done it himself and the image of him manhandling flowers warmed her heart. It was a sweet gesture but why had he done it? 

“I got them from the glass house.” 

“They are very beautiful, thank you.” 

She carefully placed the garland on her head. The yellow blossoms stood out against her dark hair, yellow and black her house colors. 

“I think we should marry.” 

Sansa blinked up at him startled. She must have misheard. That was the only explanation. 

“What?” 

Cheeks flushed with embarrassment he reached out and took her hand in his. 

“If this conflict escalates there will be those who would have me use you as a hostage or a tool.” 

She knew Theon would definitely push for that. 

“If we marry now I can protect you. You wouldn’t be a Lannister but a Stark.” 

Sansa would always be both a Lannister and a Baratheon no matter her marriage. That was part of what it meant to be a royal princess. But she knew what he meant. Could she say yes? Why not? It wasn’t that strange. After all, her house had been founded when Argella married Orys, her father’s murder. She knew that her mother would never want her to marry an enemy of House Lannister, but keeping a foot in both camps seemed like something her grandsire would advice. But it wasn’t her decision it was never meant to be her decision. It wasn’t her place to accept. 

“Yes!”

The word tumbled from her mouth of it’s own accord.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In most fics this is considered to be the “fix it A.U.” BUT for Sansa Baratheon this is actually the worst possible scenario.

“I want to trim it with Myrish lace as white as snow.” 

Sansa said gleefully as she ran her hands over the gown before her. The warm butter yellow silk was refreshing and eye catching. The neckline was elegant yet modest and the long bell-like sleeves were lined with the finest sable. With the right embellishments in would be a gown worthy of the Queen herself. 

“I’m sure my father can get the fabric sent to White Harbor.” Jeyne said eagerly noting it down on a sheet of parchment. 

“We’ll need plenty of pearls, oh and lapis lazuli. They match my eyes so perfectly! Do you think it would be too much to have gems on both the neckline and belt?”

Jyzene rolled her olive colored eyes as she secured the emerald encrusted hairnet to Sansa’s head. 

“You are a princess of the Iron Throne, have as many gems as you like!”

“It’s just they dress simpler here and…” 

“Well then you’ll just have to show them what style and elegance look like.” Her handmaiden replied with a smirk. 

As Sansa studied her gown imagining ways to enrich it, she couldn’t help but think that it was such a shame that it would be ripped to pieces during the bedding ceremony. She wished she could keep it as a memento. Mayhaps she could ask her husband to stealthily collect some scraps for her. Then when she and Robb were old and gray they would have something to remind themselves of their tumultuous beginnings. 

“Jeyne, could you be a dear and send the order to the cloth merchant?” 

“Oh.”

The steward’s daughter stiffened in her chair. She disliked being ordered about by a handmaiden but Jyzene was not to be trifled with. She may be a Hill but she was a Hill of The Rock. Normally Sansa would have tried to keep the peace but if Jyzene wanted to talk without the northern girl she knew there must be a good reason. 

“Alright then. How…” 

“Two yards white Myrish lace should do.” Jyzene said crisply.

She opened a golden wood box from the Summer Isles and pulled out one of Sansa’s hair ribbons. 

“Show them this so they get the shade right.” 

Jeyne took the bit of ribbon and left in a huff. As soon as the door clicked shut Jzyene sat down next to her leaned in and whispered conspiratorially: 

“Now, how will you tell your mother of your wedding?” 

Oh, she hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. Instantly her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. Ever since the day of the wilding attack Sansa had thrown herself completely into planning their wedding, hiring musicians and ordering lemon cakes. She could imagine her mother’s reaction now, crimson skirts swirling as she paced about, berating whichever unfortunate messenger gave her the news, her screeches ricocheting off the stone walls and vaulted ceilings. Sansa winced at the image. Still, it would be all right in the long run, she reasoned, after all, Lord Stark was Hand of the King and Warden of the North Grandfather Tywin won’t want this feud to go on too long. It just wasn’t practical and if Grandfather Tywin was anything it was practical. In the long run, her marriage would strengthen House Lannister's power and influence. Why couldn't her mother see that? 

“Your mother won’t believe you choose this of your own free will.” 

Her cousin was right. Mother would think that she was just as much a captive as Uncle Tyrion. She’d think that Sansa’s marriage imprisoned her rather than freed her. Robb’s chivalry would be but a political maneuver in her eyes. She was fiercely protective and would do anything to free Sansa from her imagined jailer. Gods, she’d hoped their marriage would help things not escalate the conflict.

“I could write…but she’d just assume that Robb was forcing my hand.” 

“Or that you feared that your letters were being read.” Jyzene said nodding grimly. 

Sansa sighed defeated and let her shoulders slump forward. If only they’d established that some sort of code word before her family left Winterfell. She could write to Myrcella. Myrcella would believe her. But mother wouldn’t believe Myrcella. 

“I could put in things that would upset Robb, like comments about his mother’s clothes or his aunt’s madness.” 

“That’ll have to do.” 

The door creaked open and Robb popped his head in. Sansa flushed and straighten her emerald green skirts. She hadn’t been expecting him this early; normally he was in the training yard with Theon until noon. Often she and Jzyene would come down and watch them, clapping whenever they made an impressive shot and oohing and awing at their prowess, but today wedding duties had taken persistent. His cheeks looked flush from the excursion and his hair was windswept. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting.” 

“Not at all.” Jyzene said with a sly smile. 

“I’ll go see about getting those pearls and lapis laszuli, my princess.” She shot Sansa a playful wink and slinked out of the room. And just like that, they were alone. Robb took a step closer and she noticed a new warmth in his blue eyes. 

“I know this isn’t how you imagined your wedding.” 

That was certainly true. Her visions of her wedding had changed over the years but the one constant was her family’s presence. Dancing with Uncle Renly, teasing Myrcella for making eyes at the young lordlings, Tommen stuffing his cheeks with sweets like a squirrel, her father and Uncle Tyrion drinking themselves under the table, Joffery tormenting the servants as always, and most importantly her mother beaming with pride. 

“but I found this and I thought you might like to wear, you know on the day.” 

He handed her a small bundle wrapped in black velvet. She unwrapped the soft cloth revealing a diadem of intertwined bronze and iron studded with black and purple dragon glass. It looked beautiful yet fierce, like something Queen Visenya would have worn. 

“It’s a family heirloom.” 

“It’s very beautiful.” Sansa whispered. 

She held it up to the light letting it play on the polished volcanic rock. Robb grinned with pride as though she’d complimented his person. 

“Old Nan says it belonged to Bran the Builder’s wife, Alys, but then again she says a great many things.” 

Alys Stark, the first Queen in the North. He was giving her a piece of history, making her part of his house, part of his pack. Father never gave her mother any Baratheon heirlooms, not that she would have worn them if he had. Sansa looked up at him and smiled. Even though things were hard now Sansa knew she had definitely made the right choice.

“I also went into Winter’s Town and had the jeweler fix your necklace.” 

She gasped as he pulled her lapis lazuli necklace from one of his pockets. She’d thought that it had been lost on the day of the wilding attack. She’d hated the thought of losing a precious gift from her Uncle Renly, especially now when she had no idea when she would see any of her family again. 

Sansa placed the diadem gingerly on the table before, turning for him to fasten the lavaliere around her neck. For a moment nothing happened. She looked back and gave him an inviting smile, which snapped him out of his trance. Once he had finished struggling with the clasp she turned around to face him. Impulsively Robb traced the gemstone with his fingertips grazing her neck. She shuddered at his touch but boldly held his gaze. The tips of his ears turned pink. She smirked feeling oddly empowered by his response. 

“Thank you.” Sansa said softly, reaching out and touching his cheek. She had to catch her breath when Robb leaned into the touch.

“You’ve been very kind.” 

Robb wrapped his arm around Sansa’s waist and pulled her closer. Her body was now flush against her betrothed’s. For the first time, Sansa noticed Robb’s wide mouth and full lips. The lips started moving. 

“No kinder than you deserve.” 

Sansa knew she should come up with something witty to say but her mind was blank. She parted her lips. No sound came out. Robb leaned in and gently kissed her. Sansa didn’t kiss back. She was too busy just feeling. Memorizing the moment of her first kiss. The taste of wild strawberries and cinnamon on his lips, the scent of cedar wood and hard soap, the tickle of his rough beard against her smooth skin. Robb sucked on her bottom lip and she whimpered in response. Then all too quickly Robb pulled away. Sansa made an undignified whining noise at the loss. 

That’s when she noticed Jyzene standing in the doorway looking sheepish. 

“Sorry to intrude, but there’s an envoy from your uncle.” 

“Renly?” 

“Stannis. He says it’s urgent.” 

\----- 

The morbid pouch hanging from the scruffy man’s neck revealed him to be the Onion Knight. Mother called him Stannis’s lowborn pet but ever-polite Sansa smiled serenely at him. Good manners cost nothing. The bleak look on his face sucked all the levity and joy from earlier right out of her. 

“Ser. Seaworth to what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“My princess, your lord uncle has sent me to deliver some grave news.”

Her mind raced and she tightened her grip on Robb’s hand. Someone was dead. Her mother? Her father? Joffery? No, she would receive such news from a royal messenger, mayhaps a Lannister cousin, but not someone from Dragonstone. Robb gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“It will soon be common knowledge throughout the Seven Kingdoms but he thought it best that you hear it from someone in person.” 

That was odd, her Uncle Stannis was not known for his emotional sensitivity. It wasn’t as though they were close. Truthfully she wasn’t sure if her Uncle Stannis was close to anyone. Why was he giving her so much consideration all of the sudden? 

“You might want to sit down.” He said with a grim sigh. “Both of you.”  
His tone sent an icy shiver of dread down Sansa’s spine.

“Lord Stannis has gathered evidence that Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen Baratheon were sired by Ser Jaime Lannister.”

Her blood froze in her veins. No. No! It was sick and impossible. Her heart beat was thundering like a war drum in her ears. No, this wasn’t happening. There had to be some mistake. Just because they weren’t stags and does didn’t mean they weren’t Baratheons! They were all father’s children. Tommen had inherited his love of food, Joffery his rage, and Myrcella always wrinkled her nose and talked with her hands just like he did. They might not always get along, but they were a family without a doubt. 

“As proof” Ser. Davos continued. “he cites that the King has six and ten natural children all black of hair regardless of their mother’s coloring. Also, every Baratheon and Lannister union before this one had resulted in dark haired scions.”

And her poor mother….how dare they slander her? The golden Queen, a lioness of the Rock, the most beautiful woman in all the Seven Kingdoms. She should scratch this peasant’s eyes out right now. How dare he attack the Queen! This would not stand! There would be the seven hells to pay! Her mother was good and beautiful. She would never commit treason or incest. Yet, somehow it was easier for Sansa to imagine her mother and uncle in a passionate embrace than to imagine her mother and father in the same…. Bile crept up her throat.

“However, Stannis makes it clear that you are your father’s trueborn daughter. Because you not only have the Baratheon coloring but also bare a red birthmark on your neck just like your grandmother Cassana and have inherited your grandsire Steffon’s large flat feet.”

Now every lord in the kingdoms would know about her “disgusting duck feet” as Joffery called them and the blotchy mark she always tried to conceal. Joffrey said it was a permanent love bite, the mark of a true whore. How had her uncle come to know these intimate details about her person? Sansa never thought he paid her much mind yet all the while he’d been studying her, cataloging her features. She felt oddly violated. 

The men around her continued to talk but she couldn’t process any more. Stannis and this onion fool were so focused on the fact that she was a Baratheon that they seemed to have forgotten that she was a Lannister too. Lannister cousins had always surrounded her yet she’d only met Shireen twice! Sansa loved lavender and emeralds like her mother. Like her younger brother she had a soft spot for animals and an enormous sweet tooth. She and Myrcella both adored Cyvasse and music. And even though they were nothing alike in temperament she and Joffrey shared the same nose and mouth. They were her true family! 

What would happen to her sister and brothers? Even if her mother demanded a trial by combat and Uncle Jaime won it… How could they possibly go back to before? How could her mother sit beside a man who had charged her with adultery and treason? Sansa needed to be there with them, for them. She wanted to scream, to roar like a true lioness and bring this madness shrieking to a halt. She pushed her chair back and it made a loud low squeak. All eyes turned to her. Sansa stood up. 

“Send a raven to my father to delay the trail. I’m returning to King Landing at once.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretend that there’s some wormhole like in the T.V. show so that they can travel faster 
> 
> I’ve upped Sansa’s cannon snobbery because she’s Cersei’s daughter. Also, it’s transference i.e. she’s mad at her father but can’t take it out on him so she belittles others to make herself feel better. I'll explain some of the motives behind Robert's choices in the next chapter.

Ser.Davos tried to convince Sansa to stay at Winterfell, saying that she was much safer in the North, but she didn’t care about her own safety at the moment. Robb insisted that he come with her and that they take a band of soldiers as protection. She was touched by the gesture knowing that how he hated the thought of leaving Bran and Rickon alone. They set out for the capital the next day.

As they started their journey south, Sansa couldn’t bare to think of the reality of the situation yet she couldn’t think of anything else. It was like the sun if she confronted it directly it would blind her. The only way she could think about it was if she treated it like an elaborate Cyvasse game. So that’s what she did. The Riverlands would stay loyal as would the Baratheon’s own Stormlands. The Martells had no great love for King Robert but they hated the Lannister’s even more. As for the Vale….well Lady Arryn was unhinged but with her paranoid and feeble son, she didn’t seem like the type to rebel. So the real question was what would the Tyrells do? Margaery could be Joffery’s queen but were they willing to defy the King to make that happen? It would be a risk but if they did it would mean the two wealthiest houses were rebelling. They might try and pursued the King to make her his new queen. The idea of Margaery switching her affections from the son to his father was disgusting but stranger things had happened. 

Still no matter what the Queen of Thorns tried Sansa knew her father would never remarry. He hadn’t wanted to marry anyone after Lyanna’s death and now that he believed himself to be a cuckold there would be no persuading him. As a woman, Sansa would only be considered an heir if all the men in her house died. Her son could inherit the throne but considering how much her father ate and drank it was unlikely that he’d live to see his grandson become a man. No, it was much more likely that Stannis would succeed her father. Then since he was unlikely to get a male heir after all these years, Shireen’s son would follow him. There was a sudden shortage of Baratheons and it would fall to her and Shireen to make it up. They’d have to get Shireen wed as soon as she flowered to further the line. Her father would probably push for her and Robb to marry as soon as she arrived in King’s Landing.

The most nerve-racking thing was the lack of reliable information. There were whispers and gossip but she had no idea what to believe. At an inn by the Twins Sansa overheard a band of mummers saying that Ser. Jaime had slaughtered thirteen men, including three knights of the Kingsguard, trying to carve a path out of the Red Keep for him and his sister and lost his right hand in the ensuing fight. Cersie stabbed Ser. Boros Blount in the eye when he tried to take her prisoner. That sounded like her mother but Sansa had no way of confirming where or not it was true.  
\---

Finally when they arrived at the old inn at the crossroads Ser. Davos received a missive from Lord Stannis. Davos frowned at the letter and handed it to his son Matthos.

“My eyes are tired. Read this for me.”

It took all Sansa’s training in etiquette not to snatch the letter from his hand. Why hadn’t he just given it to her in the first place? She watched impatiently as Matthos read the letter. Robb seemed to have taken to the boy but Sansa didn’t care for him. He was always making passes at Jyzene. As if a royal handmaiden would debase herself with a man whose grandsire was a crabber.

“Queen Cersei demanded a trial by combat,” Matthos said his voice hesitant and soft. “but King Robert has refused.”

“What?” Sansa cried her voice loud enough to waken the sleeping drunk at the next table.

Robb let his pewter fork drop to his plate with a dull clunk.

“He can’t do that! It’s her right!”

“That’s against the law isn’t it?” Robb asked his brow furrowed in a frown.

“The King’s word is law.” Davos replied dryly dipping a piece of black bread in his autumn ale like a filthy street urchin.  
  
Sansa automatically frowned at his comment. She didn’t approve of outsiders speaking ill of her father, even when she was furious with him herself. It was bad form. A trial by combat had been her mother’s only real chance for getting justice. Any trail set up by her father would be but a show. Sansa had pinned her hopes on Uncle Jaime to get them all out of this.

“What about the rumors?” Jyzene piped up from her seat in the corner. “Is it true that Ser. Jaime lost his hand?”

Matthos scanned the missive with immense slowness. Ser Davos slurped down a large spoonful of his leek soup leaving fat droplets of it on his unkempt beard. Sansa clutched her napkin underneath the wooden table and fought against her desire to slap the upstart knight.

“Aye,” Matthos finally replied. “the Kingslayer’s lost his sword hand.”

Another crippling blow to House Lannister. With her hopes dashed, Sansa drowned her sorrows in steak and kidney pie and a goblet of claret.

\----

Later that night after everyone had gone to bed there was a knock at Sansa’s door. She tossed the furs off of her hopped out of bed and scampered over the cold floor to the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.” Came the muffled sound of Robb’s voice.

Her heart leaped up into her throat as she hurried to unbolt the door and let him in. There he was in the doorway in only his shirt and breeches. Blushing furiously Sansa motioned for him to enter afraid of someone spotting them if he stayed out in the hall. As she closed the door behind him the full weight of the situation hit her. They’d been alone before but never like this, in her bedchamber, at night, her with her hair undone dressed only in her flimsy white nightgown. It was too domestic, too intimate to be proper.

“I just wanted to check in on you.” Robb whispered earnestly. “See how you were doing.”

Sansa didn’t know what to say. It was clear that he wanted to be there for her, just as she had been there for him after Bran’s fall but…. There was no way he could possibly understand what she was going through. Besides baring her soul to him would only make her cry and what purpose would that serve? 

Suddenly she noticed wispy red hairs poking out of Robb’s shirt. For a moment all she could think about was touching his chest. Embarrassed, she looked down at her large feet peeking out from the hem of her nightgown.

“Technically, we should have a chaperone.” Sansa pointed out, ever a stickler for propriety.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

It surprised her how true the statement was. Not only did she trust him with her reputation and virtue, she trusted his word.

“Besides” Robb said with a playful twinkle in his eye. “if Davos hadn’t come we would be married by now.”

It was true she realized bitterly. She would have been Sansa Stark if not for that interfering crook. She would have been wedded and bedded. They would have been blissful newlyweds, learning each other’s bodies in peace and falling in love.

“That social climbing smuggler ruined everything with his lies!” 

Sansa barely recognized her own voice. She wasn’t normally this harsh. She sounded like her mother, like a lioness.

“Sansa…” Robb murmured taken aback.

“How do we know that this isn’t just Stannis trying to seize power?”

Yes, she was the only one who looked like her father but all but one of the Stark children took after their mother and none was accusing Lady Stark of having an affair with her brother Edmure. In her heart, Sansa knew it wasn’t the same. Edmure wasn’t constantly at his sister’s side and Lord and Lady Stark loved one another. But still!

“He’s taking advantage of the lack of trust between my mother and father.”

“My father supports him. He won’t do that unless he knew his claims to be true.”

Sansa deflated. There was no point arguing this with Robb. As far as he was concerned his father was infallible and there was nothing Sansa could ever say to convince him otherwise. She envied him his naivety and faith. Sansa sat down on her bed, the fight temporarily drained out of her.

“What do you think he’ll do to my brothers and sister?”

Of all the questions that had been swirling through her head since Ser. Davos’s arrival this was the one that weighed heaviest on her soul.

“They are still young.” Robb said with a shrug as he climbed up onto the bed next to her.

“It should be simple to strip them of their family name and give them to your grandfather.”

Her grandfather was, in fact, on his way to the capital with every Lannister bannerman he could call up riding at his back. His grandchildren might be used as peace offerings or bargaining chips. She sighed deeply and rested her head on Robb’s shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her waist and rested his head atop hers.

“My grandfather will not take this laying down. He will do everything in his power to protect Joffrey's right to the throne.”

He started running his fingers through her black hair. She let her eyes flutter closed. His touch felt nice, soothing even. Her mother used to comb Sansa’s hair like that.  
“There will be war,” Sansa whispered into his shirt.

But whom did she want to win? Honestly, she knew that Stannis would make a better king than her brother, but she could never betray her family. How could she be a loyal and dutiful daughter to the man who had destroyed her mother and denied her justice?

“Then we’ll fight.” Robb replied his voice sure and strong.

He pressed a feather-light kiss on her forehead. The Starks would do the “honorable” thing and support her father and Uncle Stannis. Sansa wasn’t sure if steadfast loyal to the bone Robb could possibly understand how conflicted she felt. All Sansa’s life she had been torn between her two parents and struggled to make them both happy. But now she had to make a choice and no matter what she did she’d be betraying someone she loved.

\---

The next morning as their little party traveled down the King’s Road Sansa finally gained to courage to ask Jyzene a question.

“Do you think it’s true?”

If anyone in Sansa’s circle knew it would be her. As a baseborn handmaiden she traded in whispers and secrets.

“I don’t know. You?”

“I don’t know.” Sansa replied running her fingers through Jonquil’s yellow mane.

“If it is it would explain Joffrey.”

“Indeed it would.” She said with a dry laugh “Indeed it would.”

Startled, Robb turned around in his saddle at the sound of her laugh. Sansa flushed and realized it was the first time she’d laughed since Ser. Davos’s arrival. Such levity was inappropriate. Still, Robb gave her an encouraging smile.

\---

Over the next few days Sansa slowly allowed herself to accept the possibility that the allegations were true. That opened up many doors and brought up hundreds of unanswerable questions.

Had her mother always know that she was her husband’s child, not her lover’s? Had she resented her for it? How could she not? Sansa knew she wasn’t her mother’s favorite, that place was reserved for Joffrey for some unknown reason. However, she’d never felt passed over in favor of Myrcella or Tommen. Had her Uncle Jaime known? Of course, he must have. But then why did he never behave as a father towards his niece and nephew. Joffery especially could have used some extra guidance.

The Targaryen’s wed brother to sister for hundreds of years. How was what her mother and uncle did any different from Queen Naerys and Aemon the Dragon Knight? Because Queen Naerys wasn’t her mother! For as long as Sansa could remember she had always followed the rules exactly. She couldn’t reconcile the fact that her mother, the woman she admired most in the world, would break the cardinal rule.

Still, it was hard for her to side with her father even though he was the wronged party. He was the one ripping their family apart, imprisoning his children, and denying her mother her rights. Neither one of her parents were who she thought they were. 

\---

Sansa awoke to a blood-curdling scream. Dazed and afraid she and Jyzene clung to each as they listening to the noises coming from right outside their tent. A loud thud, growling, snarling, a scuffle, and then a ghastly silence. Sansa crawled out of her bedroll and poked her head out of the tent flap. Bathed in moonlight Greywind stood on a man’s chest snarling his muzzle covered in fresh blood.

“Greywind to me.” She turned at the sound of Robb’s voice and saw him Davos and Matthos approaching their tent carrying lanterns.

Robb shone his lantern over the body revealing the bloody mangled mess the direwolf had made of the man’s throat. Sansa gagged.

“Are you all right?”

Sansa nodded stunned unable to take her eyes off mauled corpse. Greywind licked his lips looking rather pleased with himself.

“Do you think he was a thief?” Matthos asked bewildered.

“Not with clothes this fine.” Ser. Davos replied as he knelt down to examine the body.

Sansa leaned in. The dead man looked vaguely familiar with his sharp cheekbones and doublet of silver and purple. Wait….was he? Jyzene let out a shriek and covered her mouth with her hand. Her cousin’s reaction confirmed Sansa suspicions. The man was Ser. Robert Brax, Jyzene’s first love. All the color had drained from her face.

“You know him?” 

Sansa enveloped her cousin in her arms letting her cry onto her shoulder. 

“He is…was one of my grandfather’s men.”

“He was sent to kidnap you.” Ser.Davos said his voice filled with certainty. 

“There were probably others with him we must search the woods.”

The three men sprang into action leaving Sansa to comfort Jyzene and sort through her own thoughts and feelings.

What if Ser.Brax had made it into her tent? Would she have struggled or gone willingly? Honestly, Sansa didn’t know and that frightened her.

\-----

Sansa studied her reflection in her hand mirror and sighed She had lavender circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. Her hair was dry, stringy and limp. Throughout their journey, she’d be hiding her identity and status by wearing drab travel clothes but now that they were entering King’s Landing She had to look like a princess again.

“I thought you might want to wear this.” Jzyene said pulling a butter yellow gown from a wooden chest.

They hadn’t had time to get the lace but Jyzene had sewn pearl and lapis lazuli all over the bodice. Now that she was to wed in King’s Landing she’d never be allowed such a plain bridal gown. The royal seamstresses were probably hard at work making her a gown covered in does and stags loudly proclaiming her paternity to the world. It would be nice to get to wear the gown of her choosing.

“Thank you.” Jyzene gave her a thin smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

She laced Sansa up into the dress. She styled her hair simply, pulling it away from her face with a strain of pearls and letting it cascade down her back. Sansa put on the pendant she’d receive from her Uncle Renly and left her tent, the picture of a royal princess. 

As they approached the city on horseback Sansa couldn’t help but enjoy the fact that Robb couldn’t take his eyes off her in her new gown. But as they approached the city gates she was shocked to see Ser. Janos Slynt and the City Watch waiting for them in all their gold-cloaked glory. What was this? Was she going to be arrested like the rest of her family? 

“My princess, we’ve been ordered to escort you to the Red Keep.” Ser. Janos called out.

“I’m grateful but is this escort truly necessary?” Sansa asked sweetly tightening her grip on Jonquil’s reins. “After all, we are but a small party.”

“Yes, but we need to control the crowds. The smallfolk are keen to see their new crown princess.”

“Crown princess?” Robb repeated his voice now almost as high as Sansa and his eyebrows shooting up and disappearing into his hairline.

“Aye, the King is having the law changed.” The fat frog-faced knight made a feeble attempt at a charming smile but it only made his face uglier and more contorted. 

“You are to be his successor.”

Robb gaped at the man like a drowning trout. Crown princess? They wanted to make her queen. Queen Sansa Baratheon, Rhaenyra the Second, brother usurper, betraying of kin, a doe. It was too much. She couldn’t think about it now. It was too overwhelming and she needed to keep a clear head.

“Will I be greeted by my father?”

“The King has given orders that he’s not to be disturbed but you have an audience with him tomorrow morning.” 

An audience? He wanted to make her his successor, yet he treated her like just another subject. Sansa would need to make alliances, as it was clear that she couldn’t count on her father. 

“Get to Littlefinger and tell him to meet me in the Godswood at sunset.”

She whispered. Her handmaiden nodded dutifully. And so with a beatific smile plastered on her face, Sansa entered King's Landing as a crown princess and heir to the Iron Throne.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be clear the succession isn’t settled. Robert has just declared Sansa his heir and is changing the law, that doesn’t mean it’s going to be universally accepted. Stannis sees it as a kick in the nads but that’s the story of his life. He resents Sansa just like he resents Renly but is ever dutiful. Renly’s annoyed to be pushed down the line of succession but is waiting and plotting. 
> 
> So Robert didn’t make Sansa his heir because he’s a feminist, he’s not. Basically, he’s just lost of three out of his four children and doesn’t have the heart to disinherit the one kid he has left. On a political level disinheriting her would strengthen the Lannister’s cause. Tywin would fight to put Sansa on the throne and make her his puppet. She’s more manageable than Joffery and not tainted by scandal. Also since Robert’s going to have to battle Tywin he wouldn’t want to alienate the North by disinheriting Robb’s future children. 
> 
> As for Littlefinger in this A.U. Sansa isn't Catleyn’s daughter so that dynamic isn’t there. But he’s still a predator and since Sansa has the same basic personality he’s still drawn to her.

If Sansa had thought that Lord Stark seemed taciturn and dower before that was nothing compared to his demeanor now. Still his ashen face lite up with a smile as he limped over to his son and heir and pulled him into a hug. She watched the scene with envy as father and son embraced while little Arya bounced around them, tugging at Robb’s sleeve and bombarding him with a thousand questions, like a high-strung hound greeting it’s master. Greywind and Nymeria sniffed each other and wagged their tails. The pack was reunited. This was how family reunions were meant to happen, not in dungeon cells or public audiences in the Great Hall. As Sansa watched Robb talk to his father and sister she noticed the freckles that had cropped up on his face. They must have been from all that time in the sun while they were traveling. She liked them; they made him even more handsome. Sansa was interrupting from her musings by the sight of a glowering Sandor Clegane. 

“I’m to be your temporary sworn shield little bird.” The huge man snarled his voice deep and gravely.

Judging by the look on his burnt face he wasn’t too happy about it.The Hound’s nickname for her always reminded Sansa of the cage full of birds from the Summer Isles she’d received for her seventh name day. She and Myrcella used to coo over them as they sang ever so sweetly. But one day Joffery had tortured them to death, crushing them, gutting them, ripping off their beaks, and plucking out their jewel colored feathers one by one. Sansa had run crying to her father and he’d beaten Joffery black and blue swearing and shouting until he was hoarse and red in the face. As sick as it sounded a small part of her had warmed to her father for it. But that victory was short lived. When her mother found out she’d slapped Sansa cutting her cheek with one of her rings. She’d screamed at her that she must never betray her brother and future king. That’s when she learned that her mother would have never take her side over Joffery’s, no matter how wrong he was, or how well Sansa behaved. He was mother’s favorite and that would never change. 

Brushing her memories away Sansa gave the scarred man a winning smile. 

“Well, I’ll rest easy knowing that my safety is in such capable hands.” 

It made sense that the Hound’s post was only temporary. The Cleganes were from the west after all so it would be imprudent of her father to entrust him with the care of his sole heir especially after the attempted abduction. 

“Your uncle’s sending some cunt from Tarth to take the post permanently.” He groused.

On the other hand it would be unwise to dismiss such a hardened and fearsome warrior. Her father was practically handing Sandor over to the Lannisters. If this wasn’t handled properly her Robb might have to face not only the Mountain but also the Hound in battle. That mental image made a shiver run down her spine. 

“I’m sure the King will find you around position.” 

Sandor stepped closer his piercing grey eyes studying her. He stank of a putrid mix of sour red, stale ale and dried sweat. 

“Are you asking me to stay little bird?”

He raised the piece of burnt flesh where his eyebrow should have been. That always made Myrcella gag much to Joffery’s amusement, but Sansa had a stronger stomach. 

“I…” the look in his eyes told her to cut to the chase. He always hated her “damn chirping.” 

“Yes, please stay.” 

“You two must be hungry” Lord Stark said suddenly remembering his future good daughter’s presence. “Come, I’ll have food brought but to my chambers.” 

\----  
Sansa pushed her food about her plate patiently listening to Lord Stark’s droning. To be fair to her future good father he was talking about very important issues. Just as she had suspected the King’s show trail had found her mother and uncle guilty. But in more surprising news it had been decided that as crown princess she would be invited to attend all small council meetings, and receive private lessons from both Maester Pycelle and the Hight Septon. Joffery had never done any of those things but since she was a woman she’d need to work harder to win people over and convince them of the legitimacy of her claim. 

Sansa knew she should be paying attention but all she could think about was visiting her mother. First she would need to sneak into the Queen’s chambers and make a bundle of things to bring her, a vial of lavender oil to chase away the stink of the rats, her favorite hairbrush so she could maintain her glorious mane, and Grandmother Joanna’s emerald ring. Then she’d slink into the kitchens and get her a flask of Dornish red, a loaf of hearty oat bread and a wheel of cheese mayhaps even a roast duck or some lamprey pie. Sansa was sure the gaolers weren’t feeding her well. After a while she simply couldn’t stand the suspense. 

“Pardon me my lord,” She interrupted her tone as sweet as possible. “but when will I be able to visit my lady mother?” 

Lord Stark’s face fell at her words. He leaned back in his chair making it creak and busied himself brushed the stray crumbs from his beef and bacon pie out of his dark bread. He was stalling. 

“The King has made it clear that you are not to see any of his prisoners.” 

Sansa coughed as her mint tea burnt her tongue and went down the wrong pipe. What? That wasn’t fair! She’d traveled all this way for nothing! Why was her father being so cruel? Was it that he feared her mother or that he didn’t trust her? What had Sansa done to deserve this? They’d never been truly close, not like Lord Stark and Arya anyway. Her father had always preferred the company of whores and bards to that of his children. But Sansa had never done anything to slight or displease him. 

“How many has the king imprisoned?” Robb asked spreading some potted hare over a slice of black bread. 

Arya reached passed Sansa to grab a bunch of grapes from the fruit bowl. Her septa gave her a dirty look. Ladies don’t reach. But it was clear that Arya didn’t care a wit for her septa or manners. That poor woman what a thankless job. 

“At first it was just the Queen and Kingslayer and their children, but yesterday he arrested all the Lannister pages and squires.” Lord Stark said sighing bitterly and rubbing his temples.

So now simply being a Lannister was a crime. Suddenly Sansa had a frightening thought. She reached out and grabbed Robb’s hand. 

“We must protect Jyzenne!” 

Lord Stark gave her a puzzled look.  
“Her handmaiden and baseborn cousin.” Robb explained patting her hand. 

“I won’t have brought her here had I thought it would mean putting her in danger.” 

Stupid! Sansa chastised herself. Stupid and naïve even after all that had happened. She’d been too busy worrying about herself to think of her cousin’s future and security. Sansa should have insisted she stay at Winterfell. Sure, she’d have nothing to do but fight off Theon’s advances but at least she’d be safe

“I’ll see what I can do.” Lord Stark said with a curt nod.

He had the same earnest manner as his son and Sansa warmed to him for it. The Starks may not know how to play the game of thrones but they were honest and loyal, qualities that were rare in the Crown lands. Robb kissed her hand making her flush. She was lucky to have him by her side. Their engagement was the last intelligent thing her father had done. Sansa smiled graciously at the patriarch in thanks before barreling on with her next question. 

“What of my siblings?” 

“At the moment the King is reluctant to send the children to their grandsire.” 

The children, Sansa thought bitterly, not the princes and princess, or Gods forbid Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen, but the children. It reminded her of how her father always referred to Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaeyna as dragon spawn. 

“But what else would he do with them?” Robb asked baffled as he ran his thumb over her knuckles. 

“Lord Renly is trying to convince him to send the girl to a motherhouse and the boys to either the Wall or the Citadel.” 

Neither of Sansa’s brothers would survive at the Wall. Joffery would antagonize some “reformed” criminal and end up getting his throat slit in the night, while Tommen was just too soft. She was fairly sure that Mrycella could find contentment in a motherhouse. Mayhaps she could become Septa to Robb and Sansa’s daughters. And Tommen….well somehow she doubted that Tommen would have the discipline to become Grand Maestre, but she could still send for him once he’d earned his chains. Yes, all things considered, Sansa liked her Uncle Renly’s plan. It would rob the Baratheons of three valuable political pawns but she and her siblings won’t be forced to fight on opposing sides. 

“May I see my Uncle Renly?” 

It would be good to see at least one friendly face. Her Uncle Renly always knew how to make her feel better. Besides, he was much more political savvy than Lord Stark and would be able to provide her with more information and insight. Lord Stark ducked his head trying to hide his frown. Really she should start trying to think of him as Eddard. They were going to be family after all.

“He’s with the King.” 

Sansa sighed deeply. Yet another disappointment. Well, hopefully, he was giving her father good council and speaking in her favor. Robb shifted in his seat uncomfortably and licked his dry lips. 

“So, now that Sansa’s the crown princess what does that make me?” 

Sansa froze with her fork full of venison half way between her mouth and her plate. Really? Most of her family was imprisoned in this very castle and he wanted to make this all about him. She shot him an incredulous look but he ignored it. 

“Will Robb have to stay here?” Arya asked suddenly interested in the conversation. 

Her tone made it clear that she couldn’t imagine a worse fate for her brother than having to live in the capital with his betrothed. Sansa couldn’t help but feel insulted. Normally families fought tooth and nail to get their scions a chance at being a royal consort. Yes, there would be the culture shock, but she had been prepared to abandon her home for him. Why shouldn’t he be willing to do the same for her? Sansa slipped her hand out of his. Robb didn’t even notice. He was completely focused on his father. 

“Well, Bran will take your place as heir to Winterfell.” Lord Eddard replied stiffly

Robb clenched his jaw and his soft eyes darkened at the prospect of losing his birthright and a central piece of his identity. He drained his goblet of Dornish red in one long slow glug. Robb had always planned on ruling the North and now there was no telling when he’d ever get to see Winterfell again. Sansa would feel sorry for him if not for the fact that her situation was a thousand times worse. 

As for the politics of it all…a cripple as the heir to one of the Great Houses would be hard to pull off. Still, the northerners were notoriously loyal to their liege lord and Bran was an intelligent and honorable young lad. Lady Stark would need to get him married quickly. The sooner they could dispel any rumors about Bran’s virility the better. The Mormonts, Reeds, and Manderlys all had daughters of a suitable age. Sansa amused herself imagining little Bran sitting atop Hodor’s shoulders overwhelmed by feminine attentions. 

“Then when Sansa ascends to the throne she will become Queen and you will become her Prince Consort.” Eddard continued. Robb’s face hardened and became pinched. He grabbed the wine jug and began refilling his goblet. 

“What does a Prince Consort do exactly?” He asked his words crisp and clipped. 

Sansa wracked her mind for examples of prince consorts, there were the husbands of ruling Dornish Princesses, but the only real example was Prince Daemon, although he styled himself as The King of the Stepstones and The Narrow Sea. Perhaps Robb could do the same and fashion a title after the name of some battle he fought in. Little was certain about the future but Sansa knew that there would be battles. 

“He…uumm…he fathers the Queen’s children, fights in her wars, runs her castle.” 

“You’ll be her little lady wife!” Arya teased her mouth full of chewed up grapes and bread. 

“Arya!” Her septa scolded. Her father gave her a reproachful look making her pout. 

“Theon will never let me hear the end of this.” Robb groaned leaning forward on the table and burying his head in his hands. 

Her breath caught in her throat. There it was, Sansa thought. She was losing yet another person in her life. Saving the fawn, building the snow castle, the wreath of jonquils, the diadem, that kiss, it had all been too good to be true. Sansa finished her goblet of claret and dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her linen napkin. 

“I understand if this changes things.” She said her voice quiet but strong as iron. 

“What?” Robb looked up at her bewildered. 

“Lord Stark, I know my father already thinks of you as a brother.” Sansa continued ignoring Robb and addressing his father. “You needn’t sacrifice your heir to prove your loyalty.” 

“Sansa…” 

“My princess…” 

“Really, it’s perfectly alright.” 

She should try and see this as a good thing. Robb was dangerous. She already felt more than she should for him and love was a weakness. Sansa was learning that the hard way. She calmly placed her knife and fork on her plate and pushed it away from herself. 

“Mayhaps it’s for the best. Mace Tyrell has always wanted a royal grandchild and I doubt he cares whether he gets it through his son or daughter.” 

She pulled her chair out and stood up. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me I’m rather tired and wish to retire.” 

And with that Sansa exited Lord Stark’s chamber the Hound quick on her heels. 

“That was quite a performance little bird.” 

Sansa blinked back her tears. She knew the man’s bark was much worse than his bite but right now she was too sensitive for teasing. Still, she didn’t have time for this she had serious business to attend to. 

\--------

Sansa paced in the Godswood waiting and rehearsing her speech. There were two men Sansa could have gone to Varys or Lord Baelish. She chose Lord Baelish because she had a decent sense of what he wanted. Varys was an enigma and she didn’t need any more uncertainty in her life right now. True Little finger had no retainers or great strongholds but he was a clever man a dreamer and schemer with limitless ambition who had ever middleman in the Seven Kingdoms in his pocket. When Sansa ascended to the throne she could show him favor but what could she promise him in the short term? Harrenhal? He didn’t seem the type to care about ghost stories. But he might want something in his home kingdom of the Vale. The Lady Arryn’s hand? According to Jyzene there was talk of wedding her to Renly to secure her loyalty. But it won’t be hard to convince Renly to give up that prospect. Lady Arryn was mad and possibly barren. If he married her he’d probably have to wait until his second marriage to get an heir. 

“My princess,” Sansa turned around to see the Master of Coin glided through the trees his plum-colored robes rustling the dead leaves on the ground. 

“The Northern air has done wonders for you.” He said as he bowed low and kissed her hand. 

“Or mayhaps it is your elevation in station that makes you glow with such radiance?” 

It was only Sansa’s extensive training in etiquette that prevented her from rolling her eyes. 

“Lord Baelish, it’s a pleasure. Although I do wish we could have met under better circumstances.” 

He rose gracefully. 

“Ah yes, these are trying times indeed. But it is in times of turmoil and chaos that men show their true character.”

A time for advancement and promotion, Sansa thought, a time for opportunists to prey on the weak. A time for scum like Little finger to rise to the top. 

“That is very wise, my lord. I will keep that in mind.” 

As they started walking through the woods Sansa strategically positioned herself on a downward slope so that she would seem shorter and have to look up at him. Her mother had always taught her that perception was a powerful thing. She needed him to believe that her crown rested on an empty head, that she was but a sweet girl whom he could mold in his image.

“In times like these it is important to find people you can rely on and trust.” He intoned in his velvety voice. 

“That’s very true. With all this upheaval I find myself searching for guidance. I believe that you and I are natural allies.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. Unlike most men of power, you can understand my situation. People underestimate you because of your humble birth just as they underestimate me because of my sex.” 

Sansa hoped that mentioning his low rank wasn’t a mistake. She meant to complement him but sometimes people could be sensitive about that sort of thing. 

“Lord Baelish…” 

She turned back around to face him suddenly he was crowding her. 

“Please call me Petyr.” He said his voice low like the rumbling of a cat’s purr. 

For a moment Sansa was stunned shocked by his familiarity. What was she to do? It wouldn’t do to reprimand a man right before asking him a favor. Her mother had always said that a woman’s greatest weapon was between her legs. Sansa would never dream of betraying Robb. Wait, were they even still betrothed? Probably not after the scene she’d made a dinner. Then why did it feel so wrong to accept another man’s attentions? Either way, it wouldn’t hurt to give Lord Baelish a bit of fantasy, the untouchable royal princess flattering the lowly Master of Coin with her attentions. 

“Petyr,” His name felt wrong coming out of her mouth but his eyes lite up when he heard it. “may I be honest with you?” 

“But of course.” He purred inching even closer. She noticed that his breath smelt strongly of mint. It wasn’t an unpleasant scent yet somehow she found it off-putting. 

“I know I can persuade my father to take pity on my brothers and sister but I fear his heart is hardened when it comes to my mother.” 

Sansa took a deep breath and licked her dry lips nervously. Enough buttering him up, time to get to the real meat of the matter. 

“I need you to help my mother and uncle escape.” 

Little finger abruptly took a step back shaking his head and stroking his short pointed beard. Sansa was instantly flooded with panic. She was losing him! She couldn’t lose him!

“I’m flattered that you have such faith in my abilities but what you propose is nearly impossible…” 

“You know what they say about Lannisters paying their debts.” Sansa interrupted. 

“Surely, I don’t have to explain to a man of your intelligence the benefits of having the heir to the Iron Throne in your debt?” 

Sansa watched his shrewd gray-green eyes dance as he mulled the idea over. If the rebels won Baelish would be their hero, if they failed well he’d still be a confidante to the Crown Princess. If he was caught in the act and his minions ratted him out he could say that he was taking orders from the Baratheon heir. Her father won’t want word to get out about how fractured the royal family truly was so he’d cover it up. 

“Indeed you don’t, my princess.” Lord Baelish replied with a smirk playing on his thin lips. 

“Indeed you don’t.” 

Sansa instantly felt as though a huge weight had just been lifted from her shoulders. The sensation was intoxicating and it was all she could do not to let out a giddy laugh. Her mother would live!  
Little finger reached out and caught a loose strand of her dark hair. 

“You know, your loyalty and tenacity remind me of a girl I once knew. She too was torn between love and duty.” He whispered tucking her hair behind her ear. 

His touch and the strange intensity of his gaze made her feel uncomfortable. But what did that matter when her mother would finally be free? Sansa didn’t care if she reminded him of a long lost love, his sister, or the Maiden herself. She would use every weapon at her disposal. 

“I’m very flattered, Petyr.” Sansa replied breathily hoping that he mistook her embarrassment for arousal.

Hands shaking with a mixture of relief and joy she took her mother’s emerald ring off her finger. It was her Grandmother Joanna’s ring, the same ring that had cut Sansa’s cheek when her mother slapped her for tattling on Joffery. She pressed it into Petyr’s hand.  
“Please, give this to my mother.”

“As you wish, my princess.” He whispered his eyes twinkling in the dwindling light as he raised her hand to his lips. 

“As you wish.”  
\---

“There you are!” 

Not now! Sansa groaned internally. She wanted to ride the high from her victory just a little longer. Couldn’t she wait to deal with this mess in the morning? Was that too much to ask? But no, there he was Robb Stark standing in front of the door to her chambers. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” 

Sansa wanted to scream. She wanted to call him a carven for abandoning her when she needed him most. She wanted to yell at him for making her believe he loved her when in reality he was only kind to her because it was the honorable thing to do. But she was a princess so instead Sansa sighed and clasped her hands behind her back and gave Robb a polite smile.

“My lord, I understand you that have to do what’s best for you and your house. You don’t owe me an explanation.” 

Sansa silently willed him to just leave so she could get some much-needed sleep. But instead, he sighed running his hands through his mop of red curls. 

“Look, none of this is what I expected.” 

Despite all her training Sansa scoffed. What did he expect? Her mother had been found guilty of treason and she just found out that she would one day rule the Seven Kingdoms! Neither of them where getting what they expected!

“Well, I guess it’s not what either of us expected.” He said with a humorless laugh awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to another. 

“I know,” Sansa replied patiently her voice even and calm if not a bit patronizing. 

“and just because our fathers made an agreement months ago doesn’t mean that you’re honor bounded to marry me.” 

She truly meant it. She’d rather have him break their engagement now than marry her out of duty and let the resentment and hate to build up over the years. Sansa had seen first hand what that did to a marriage.

“What? No… it’s not about that.” Robb rambled completely thrown off. 

Confused, he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and blinked up at her with his big summer blue eyes glinting in the torchlight. It was hard to stay angry with him when he looked at her like that. His face was so open and honest the exact opposite of Petyr’s. Gods, she would miss him. Robb stepped forward closing the gap between them. 

“Look what I came here to tell you is that I don’t care what anyone says.” He whispered his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. “I’m yours as long as you want me.” 

“Why?” 

A part of Sansa hated herself for being so insecure and ruining the moment but she had to know. It was clear that he found the idea of being her consort demeaning even though it was a role of great influence. Why would he do this when it went against his own interests and desires? Was it out of pity or a misplaced sense of honor? 

“It would be far easier for you to go home, marry some northern lady and take your father’s place when his time comes. You don’t have to give up anything.” 

“But that would mean giving up you.” 

And just like that, his warm firm lips were pressed against hers. Sansa took in a sharp breath of shock before melting against him and kissing back, letting instinct take over. His hand came up to cup the side of Sansa’s face gently, while her own hands found themselves twisted in Robb’s doublet pulling him closer. Breathless and dazed, she allowed herself to give in and forget the rest of the world if only for a moment. \-----

The next morning Sansa dawned a simple dress of white and silver brocade with a modest neckline. She let her black hair fall down her back and tucked a spring of jasmine blossoms behind her ear. She wanted to look young and innocent like the Maiden come to life. Hopefully, it would make her father sentimental. Jyzene moved to conceal her red birthmark but Sansa stopped her. 

“And tack up my hem.” She added on impulse. 

“What?” 

“I want my feet to stick out of the bottom of my gown.” 

She needed to make sure he saw her as Sansa Baratheon, his little princess. She was his eldest daughter, his little huntress, the only one of his children who would sit and listen to his drunken rants long after his words started slurring together and stopped making sense. 

Robb urged her to eat. Even going as far as trying to hand fed her raspberries but her stomach was tied in a thousand knots. Her father would grant her request. He had to. But knowing that didn’t quiet her nerves. 

\----

“Crown Princess Sansa.” The royal squire called out. 

All eyes fell on her as she entered the Great Hall but her eyes were glued to her father sitting on the iron throne. He was wearing his crown shaped like golden antlers and a majestic mantle of blue and gold trimmed with ermine. He was hiding behind his kingly façade. Why couldn’t he be real with her when she needed him, needed family more than ever? Why hadn't he come to her early? Spoken to her in private? Comforted her? Anything! Sansa squashed down the rage building inside her. Those feelings wouldn't do her any good now. 

“Come forward child.” 

She sank to her knees her heart beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. The feel of the cold solid stone grounded her. This was her father. She reminded herself. The same man who used to bounce her on his knee and encourage her to play with her food much to the chagrin of her mother. Sansa could do this! He was a good man at heart he wouldn't deny her. The alternative was unthinkable. 

“Your Grace, I beg you to show mercy to my half brothers and sister.” 

It felt wrong to call them her half siblings but it was a tactical move. Sansa needed to show that she agreed with the King’s verdict. She didn't want to come off as too combative.

“They may not be your blood but they have loved and honored you as their true father since birth.” Sansa could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and an enormous lump building in her throat but she pushed through. "Please, do not make innocence pay for the crimes of their mother!" She choked out tears falling freely down her face. 

“My child you have a kind and gentle heart.” Her father announced. His booming voice filling the hall. He'd said something similar when she asked to stay at Winterfell. That must be a good sign. “But those bastard pretenders will be the death of you. They must die so that the realm might have peace.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments! They really keep me motivated and make my day.  
> Sorry it’s taken me a while to update real life is getting in the way. Plus I’ve been struggling with pacing since a lot of intense stuff is happening in a very short period of time. But I've reworked my outline now and things should be moving a lot smoother. 
> 
> Now to address something that’s been mentioned in a few comments, Joffery is definitely Sansa’s least favorite family member. Tommen and Myrcella are the siblings she’s really worried for and actually wants a relationship with. But she can’t really say: “Spare my siblings... except for Joffery for he is huge asshat!” Pointing out that he’s crazy and dangerous would undermine her case for letting Tommen and Mrycella go. Plus she knows that her mother would want him alive.

A ghastly silence fell over the Great Hall as everyone absorbed the King’s words. No…no… He couldn’t, he wouldn’t! A loud buzzing filled Sansa’s ears and she felt lightheaded and dizzy ever so dizzy. It was as if the floor had disappeared beneath her. 

“Your Grace, they are but children!” Lord Eddard protested his face ashen and his tone pleading. “Their Grandfather is but a day away and…” 

“It is the only way.” Her Uncle Stannis intoned speaking for his brother.

“We must wipe the slate clean.” 

“With the blood of innocence!” Sansa cried suddenly finding her voice.

She stood and rushed toward the Iron Throne her feet moving with a will of their own. Ser. Barristan calmly stepped in front of her blocking her path. 

“Father, please!” She begged her voice breaking. He loved her, didn’t he? He wouldn’t do this if he loved her. He couldn't do this to her, to his little huntress. 

“Please!” 

But he wasn’t her father anymore he was the King as immoveable and unreachable as the Father himself. 

“Hound, the princess is overcome take her to her rooms.” He ordered before draining his goblet of wine. 

No! She wouldn’t give up so easily. They were family and deep down her father knew that. He must! She knew he loved them all even Joffery. He had to. And you don't kill what you love. From the corner of her eye, she saw a stunned Robb lurch into action. 

“I can escort her.” 

Sansa was crying now she could feel the hot tears running down her face and clouding her vision. Crying in The Great Hall, in front of the whole court, her mother and grandsire would be so ashamed. But she had to fight! Fight like they’d taught her, like a lioness and this was the only way she knew how. 

“I am your blood and they are mine!” 

The Hound grabbed her by her arms and started pulling her backward out of the hall. 

“Stop manhandling her!” 

“Cool it lover boy!” 

“Doesn’t that mean anything to you?" 

She let her body go limp hoping to make it harder for him to carry her but it made no noticeable difference. Fine! She’d let him take he, but she would not be silenced! 

“They’re blood of your blood!” 

"Blood of your blood!” She screeched hysterically her words echoing in the air as she was dragged from the Great Hall.

\--- 

Sansa wasn’t sure how long she lay on her bed weeping into her pillow. It could have been hours it could have been days. But finally, she ran out of tears and just lay there. She refused to think or feel. It was too much too painful. Instead, she simply concentrated on her breathing and the sound of her heartbeat. How could a broken heart keep beating? She didn’t know but it seemed a cruel trick. 

Sansa was brought out of her stupor when Jyzene plopped a small ball of ginger fluff on her bed. 

“The King’s new squire delivered her.” Her cousin said with an elegant shrug. 

There was a knock at the door and Jyzene went to attend to it. 

Sansa sat up and studied her father’s present as it playfully scratched at the embroidery on her blanket. When they were little both she and Myrcella had begged their parents for kittens but after Joffery butchered her birds pets had been banned. What was her father trying to say? “Sorry I’m having your siblings murdered but on the bright side you can have a cat now.” Sansa was reminded of the time he’d hit her mother in a drunken frenzy right in front of an envoy from the Iron Bank. The next morning a new emerald and diamond choker had mysteriously appeared in the Queen’s jewelry box. Now he was trying to do the same thing with her daughter, buy her love and loyalty. Did he truly think so little of her? Did she appear that shallow? That easy to manipulate? 

If the gift had been an object Sansa would have rejected it, thrown it back in his face or out her tower window. But she couldn’t blame the kitten. It hadn’t asked to be a piece in this game any more than she had. She reached out and stroked the tabby’s ginger fur. It instantly relaxed into her touch and blinked up at her with huge green eyes. She smiled to herself. The kitten was red a Lannister color and had emerald eyes just like her mother. She’d name the cat Naerys after her lady mother’s counterpart.

Jyzene returned with a strained look on her face. 

“Lord Eddard is at the door. He’s here to escort you to the King’s private rooms.” 

Sansa bristled at the mention of the King. 

“Why?” 

Jyzene let out a heavy sigh. 

“Apparently your father wishes to speak with you.” 

Part of her wanted to reply with something childish. If her father didn’t respect her wishes why should she respect his? But that would get her nowhere. As long as her siblings lived she would fight for them. 

“Very well.” She said straightening her hair and wiping away the tear stains off her face. “While I’m out, please fetch a saucer of milk and some yarn for Naerys to play with.” 

“Naerys, that’s a fine name for her.” 

“I think so.” Sansa said scratching the cat behind her ears and making her purr.  
\---

The walk to the King’s chambers was awkward. Whenever they ran into servants or courtiers they avoided making eye contact. Plus Lord Eddard’s presence was unnerving. Sansa knew the castle like the back of her hand so why had the King sent an escort? Was it to ensure that she complied with her father’s requested? She already had the Hound following her every move, she didn’t need the Hand of the King keeping an eye on her as well. 

“My princess,” Lord Eddard finally broke the awkward silence. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of what befell Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon.” 

Sansa nodded. Of course, she knew. Joffrey had loved that story. When they were young he would sneak into her chambers before bed and gleeful tell of the two small bodies wrapped in crimson, one stabbed over fifty times, the other with his face smashed in. He loved giving his sisters nightmares. 

“Their deaths still haunt me and I have no intention of allowing history to repeat itself.” 

A bubble of hope grew in Sansa's stomach. At least she had one ally. Still, the Citadel and motherhouse were out of the question now. Maestres and Septas held too much power. The best they could hope for was the Wall and the Silent Sisters. She shivered imagining Myrcella handling corpses and Tommen freezing to death at the edge of the world. 

“If Tommen gets sent to the Wall, would you ask your brother and your son to look out for him?" 

"He’s a good boy” She added quickly. “and always tries his best but...he’s young and has a gentle spirit.” 

“Of course, My Princess.” 

“Please call me Sansa.” 

They were allies after all and soon to be family. She needed as much familial support as she could get. 

“Sansa, I’ll make sure Benjen and Jon look after him.” 

With that he extended his arm to her and she looped her arm through his. She gave him the best smile she could muster. She had the Starks in her corner as well as the Lannisters. But they hated each other...Sansa would have to be careful. 

“Is it true that my grandsire is only a day way?” She asked trying in vain to affect a casual tone. 

"Less than that by now." She needed to speak with him. Sansa was sure he had a plan but was what it? She could only hope that he would be willing to defy the crown for the sake of his bastard grandchildren. 

“Tomorrow I would like to ride out to his camp and greet him.” 

He opened his mouth to protest but she carried on. 

“As my father’s envoy of course.” 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

\------

Sansa's father sat at a long wooden table flanked on either side by his brothers. When they entered he said nothing. He merely glowered at the tapestry behind them and fiddled with the ermine cuffs on his doublet’s sleeves. He always hated the trappings of royalty. Her mother saw this as a sign that he was simple, a warrior not meant for the Iron Throne. Her Uncle Renly was the first to break the tense silence. 

“My dear Sansa! How you’ve grown?” 

He pulled her into a hug. She had to fight back tears at the warm familiarity of his touch. She was enveloped in the scents of his perfume, bergamot, circus, and cedar that brought back many happy childhood memories. 

“Now, let’s talk about this business with the children.” Lord Eddard said, clearly tired of courtly niceties and ready to get to the point. 

“Your enemies already say that your dynasty was built upon the corpses of bloodied babes what will they say when you have your wife’s children executed?” 

“They will say that I am a man to be feared! Not a bloody useless cuckold!” Her father bellowed pounding his fist on the table. 

“Surely, Ned you agree that the eldest must die?” Renly said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“We can’t have the new Crown Princess while the old Crown Prince lives.” 

“I should have known.” Her father grumbled thrusting his goblet in the air. His frightened squire tripped over himself in his rush to refill the King’s cup.

“Torturing birds, that mess with the cat and Tommen’s fawn. No true son of mine would have done that!” 

Honestly Sansa had always thought that Joffrey had inherited the legendary Baratheon temper from her father. As for his cruelty, how was it really any different from her father’s love of hunting? She’d seen the pure joy that slaughtering a defenseless animal brought him. 

“You raised him. Which is more than you can say for your sons by blood.” Sansa countered. 

“Don’t speak of things you can’t understand girl!” He growled his eyes dark and muddled. 

“Then explain it to me!” She shot back arching her eyebrow at him the way mother used to. 

“Quarreling will get us nowhere.” Renly interrupted evenly, trying to defuse the mounting tension. 

“We all know that the fruit of incest is evil.” 

Sansa rolled her eyes and bite her tongue. What about Jaehaerys The Wise, or Good Queen Alysanne or even Baelor The Blessed? 

“For now Myrcella and Tommen are mild mannered children but only the Gods know what they will become.” 

“Especially under Tywin’s influence.” Added Stannis darkly. 

How? How could the men she grew up loving and trusting betray her so? How could they be so wrong? Sansa sank down onto a nearby chair. 

“Really Robert?” Eddard scoffed staring his old friend down. 

“Are you truly afraid of children? Children you raised.” 

Suddenly Sansa saw why he was called the Quiet Wolf. There was a fierce intensity underneath his taciturn demeanor. He had a point. Her father was many things but she’d never thought him craven before now.  


Renly knelt down beside her and took her hand in his. 

“Sweetling, I know you love your mother but we must think of your safety.” He cooed patting her hand. 

Sansa looked up and met his gaze. His deep blue eyes held none of their usual mirth, instead, they looked shrewd and calculating. It was strange how his betrayal stung the worst. She’d always known that her father hated her mother, and she barely knew her Uncle Stannis at all. But Renly was her friend. He comforted her when Joffrey killed her birds, he played Florain and Jonquil with her and gave her advice about attracting suitors. He was supposed to be on her side! 

Her father snorted and downed the rest of his goblet spilling some on his beard. 

“She may have birthed you but what she has done is unforgivable!” 

Why? Sansa thought bitterly. She committed treason for the sake of love just as he had for his beloved Lyanna. Yet one of them was called a hero and the other a traitor. Of course, her father was too blind to see that. Perhaps love blinded all from the truth. It blinded her father from seeing that he was a violent hypocrite just as it had blinded her mother from seeing the danger she was putting her family in. 

“We know that you love Myrcella and Tommen,” Renly continued ignoring his brother’s words. 

“But no matter what vows or oaths they take they will be a danger to you as long as they live.”

As Renly spoke Sansa attention turned to her Uncle Stannis. He just stood there silent as a statue ridge and cold as though someone had shoved an icicle up his backside. How could he just stand there calm and serene as Baelor the Blessed when this was all his fault? She balled up her fists her fingernails piercing the skin of her palms. Without his meddling, their lives could have remained normal. She would be married to Robb and her mother would be sunning herself in the gardens while Myrcella and Tommen played instead of rotting away in a dungeon! And for what? What good did it do anyone? 

“You started all of this!” She snapped. 

Stannis ground his teeth in irritation and looked passed her as if she were no more than a bothersome gnat. 

“Sansa, sweetling.” Renly cautioned trying to take her hand again but she ignored him and stood up.

“Tracking down father’s bastards, spying on me. How did you know about my birthmark and my…my feet?” Sansa demanded as she walked towards him slowly pushing him back into a corner of the room. 

“None of that matters now.” Lord Eddards insisted. “We must concentrate on...”

“It’s not as if we’re close. How is it you know intimate details of my person when I’d bet a hundred gold dragons that you can’t name my favorite color?” 

Reluctantly her Uncle Stannis finally met her gaze. 

“During our last visit Shireen overheard Joffrey teasing you about your permanent lover’s bite and you duck feet.” 

So Joffrey's big mouth had helped to ensure his downfall. If his fate weren’t tied to that of the rest of her family Sansa could have enjoyed the delicious irony. 

“After that I confirmed it with servants and the royal cobbler.” 

He gave her a smug look as if to say: “Happy now?”

“Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?” 

“I was doing my duty to my king.” His tone dripped with condescension. 

She searched his face for something some flicker of emotion but it was stony as ever. He didn’t get! He refused to recognize the human suffering he had caused!

“Your niece and nephews will die because of your interfering!” 

“They are no kin of mine.” He spat the words out through his teeth his jaw clenched shut. 

His dark eyes didn't show a single speck of remorse or guilt. His Shireen was of an age with Myrcella wasn’t she? How could he not have reservations about killing children kin or no kin?

“They’ve called you Uncle Stannis their whole lives! Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“No, no it doesn’t.” 

Sansa wanted to scream in his ear, prick him with a needle, burn him with a candle to see if he was truly human. Did he feel? Did he bleed? 

“I think the lass has suffered enough for one day.” Lord Eddard said his voice weary. “I’ll take her back to her rooms.” 

\----

“Sansa!” Tommen cried pouncing on her like an eager kitten. 

“I brought you some food.” She whispered handing him her bundle as she wrapped her arms around Myrcella's startlingly slender frame. 

“Lemon cakes!” He cried and quickly began stuffing his face. 

“Not so fast or you’ll get sick.” Sansa chided running her hand through Myrcella’s golden mane as they hugged.

Her once lovely hair was tangled coarse and brittle. Their rich clothes were soiled their cheeks gaunt and their skin pasty and clammy. She wanted to cry at the sight of her siblings in such a decrepit state, but she knew she needed to be strong for them. Sansa took a deep breath and inhaled the stench of spoilt milk, piss, rat dung and stale sweat. 

“Come to gloat sister?” 

Her back stiffened at the voice she knew all too well. Joffrey stepped out of the shadows glaring at her his beady eyes filled with rage. She’d hoped that they would be able to be mature about this but apparently that wasn’t an option. 

“Well, enjoy it while it lasts traitor because grandfather will save us. And when he does he’ll kill you along with father.” 

“Joffrey…” Myrcella warned.

“You spread your legs for those northern savages and convinced them to help you steal my throne!” He sneered. 

Sansa flushed as anger pulsed through her. How dare he accuse her of dismantling her family for the sake of personal ambition? Especially when she had snuck down her at great personal risk to help them. He didn’t know her at all.

“Quiet the guards.” Tommen mumbled through a mouthful of lemon cake spraying crumbs everywhere. Sansa had bribed the guards but there was only so much they could ignore. 

“It wasn’t the Starks who…” 

“Well then mayhaps it’s Uncle Stannis’s cock you’ve been bouncing on!” 

Slap! Everyone froze. Shocked by her own actions Sansa stared first at her hand then at her dumbstruck brother with a bright red mark forming on his check. She knew it wasn’t lady-like to enjoy violence but she felt oddly satisfied. She couldn't unleash her pent up fury on her father or uncle but she could use it on her brother and lifelong tormentor. 

“You can’t just...” 

She slapped him again. Harder this time and Gods it felt amazing! A rush of excitement coursed through her as her brother cowered before her. 

“I am the only friend you have in this city. You will speak to me with respect.” 

Joffery opened and closed his mouth several times like a mute simpleton. She smirked. After all these years she'd finally found a way to stop him from spewing hate. It was exhilarating! 

With that Sansa turned her back on him and addressed Myrcella and Tommen. 

“Now, unfortunately, I can’t get you out myself.” 

She had desperately tried to change her arrangement with Little Finger. She knew her mother would gladly die in place of her children and her uncle…. well honestly Sansa didn’t really care how he felt. But it didn’t matter because Lord Baelish said that the wheels were already in motion and that it was too late to change the rescue mission. 

“But I’m going to meet with Grandfather tomorrow. Hopefully, he has a plan.” 

Tommen looked hopeful, but Myrcella’s expression remained stoic and unreadable. From behind her, Sansa heard Joffrey whimpering in pain. 

“If I can’t change father’s mind…” She hated herself for even entertaining this train of thought but it was necessary. 

“I’m sure I could get Master Pycelle to give me some sweet sleep that I could bring to you.” 

Sansa prayed that it wouldn’t come to that. It was the merciful thing to do. Death by sweet sleep was much more peaceful than death at the hands of Ser. Ilyn Pane. But having a hand in her siblings’ death even in an indirect way….. It would haunt her for the rest of her life. She would never be able to tell her future husband of it for fear of his harsh judgment. 

“No.” Myrcella said her voice quiet but confident. She jutted her chin out defiantly and locked eyes with her sister. 

“I want to make him watch. If father wants us dead he should have to live with the image burned in his mind forever.” 

But then it would be burnt in her mind forever too! Sansa thought tears welling up in her eyes. Didn’t her sister see that! But she couldn’t plead with her. This was her sister’s way of taking control, of being dignified and ferocious like their mother had taught them to. She wanted to die like a lioness, not a doe, never a doe. Sansa couldn’t take that away from her

“Very well,” Sansa said struggling to keep her voice steady. “We’ll just have to hope that grandfather will think of something.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you for all the kudos and comments. Just to let you know this story is coming to an end. I intended it to chronicle Sansa becoming the crown princess. But I'm already thinking about one shots in this universe when she's the queen.

Sansa’s cousins, Lancel and Tyrek sat in her drawing room round-eyed and jumpy looking as though they expected to be thrown back into a prison cell at any moment. Sansa had hoped that this would be a happy reunion. After all she was about to act as a royal envoy and return her cousins to the Lannister camp as a goodwill gesture, but for some reason it fell flat. Lancel kept asking questions about the Queen’s trail that no one would answer. What had the Queen admitted to? Was there talk of her sleeping with any other men? Who were the suspects? Meanwhile even though Jyzene and Tyrek were half siblings he was refusing to acknowledge her out of some misplaced loyalty to his mother. Everything was still too up in the air and there was far too much tension. 

Naerys gave a little yawn and curled up in the folds of her mistress’s velvet skirts. Sansa had decided to wear a crimson gown with gold filigree on the bodice to show her solidarity with her mother’s house. Now the gown would be covered in cat hair but the kitten was too cute for Sansa to mind. 

Suddenly the door was thrown opened causing Lancel to drop his cup of mint tea and the Hound entered. 

“Little bird, I present to you Brienne of Tarth, your new sworn shield.” He said imitating the cadence of The King’s new and overly obsequious pageboy. 

At first glance the woman before Sansa could have passed for a man. She had the figure of a warrior tall muscular and flat chested, and her straw-colored hair was cut in a masculine style. As Sansa studied her she determined that there wasn’t any one thing that made the other woman ugly. Individually many of her features were quite striking, the big blue eyes, her full mouth, but they all seemed to clash, fighting for dominance over her face. She was an upstart with everything to prove and no serious political affiliations, which made her prefect for Sansa’s purposes. The royalists would hate Sansa for her Lannister blood and any rebels would hate her for being Crown Princess. She needed to create a network of people who were loyal to her and only her. Lady Brienne of Tarth seemed an ideal candidate. 

“Lady Brienne.” 

“If it please you Brienne’s enough. I am no lady.” Said the large woman staring down at her own feet. 

“Very well, I’ll call you Brienne Evenstar.” 

The lady knight smiled revealing her large crooked teeth. Uncle Renly had told Sansa that the honorific Evenstar was given to the Lord of Tarth. It was a far better name for her sword shield than The Maid of Tarth or the ironic Brienne the Beauty. In fact, Sansa would have to eliminate those nicknames. By mocking some one in her serve people were indirectly mocking her and that would never do. 

“Well, I’ll leave you, ladies, to get acquainted.” Sandor huffed and stomped out of her room.

Sansa pursed her lips. She knew that Hound was sore about losing his position to a woman. The other men were sure to give him a hard time about it. She made a mental note to ask about finding a place for him. She couldn’t have her grandsire steal him away. He already had one Clegane at his command. 

“Brienne Evenstar this is my natural born cousin and handmaiden Jyzene.”

It wasn’t strictly protocol to introduce your sworn shield to your handmaiden but this was a special situation. Jyzene and Brienne were going to be the two women closest to her from now on. They’d need to trust each other and hopefully work together. Jyzene curtsied and Brienne gave an awkward bow. Sansa would have introduced her to her other cousins but they seemed to have forgotten their manners and breeding and were openly gaping at the poor woman. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Lancel asked eyeing Brienne’s imposing frame. She was definitely stronger than him. “but aren’t you Lord Selwyn’s only surviving child?” 

“You’re correct.” She replied stiffly. 

Even if Brienne weren’t a lady knight this put the Tarths of Evenfall Hall in an unfortunate predicament. Since Brienne wasn’t royalty she and her children would have to take her husband’s name thus ending her father’s line. The best she could hope for would be to keep her ancestral sigil. 

“Am I to assume that you have no interest in marriage?” 

“No, I mean yes, My Princess.” She answered flustered by the personal question. “I wish to dedicate my life to your service, not my husband’s whims.” 

Sansa nodded. The question was a mere formality. Her mother had already told her of The Maid of Tarth’s three failed betrothals. The only noble woman who had less luck with men was Lollys Stokeworth. Suddenly Brienne dropped down on one knee and looked up at Sansa her eyes steeled with determination. 

“I will pledge my life to yours and keep you save from all harm.” 

When Sansa was a little girl she’d fantasied about a knight making such a vow to her, only in her daydreams the knight was a handsome man. Still Brienne’s earnest tone moved her, it reminded her of the sincerity of the Stark men. She could trust this woman. 

“I humbly accept.” 

Brienne rose to her feet. Little Naeyrs leaped off Sansa’s lap and padded over to the giant woman. The kitten sniffed her and let out a tiny mew. 

“Come, drink with me before our journey.” 

Jyzene poured them each a goblet of sweet plum wine. The delicate glass goblet looked odd in Brienne’s huge hand. Sansa smiled and took a sip from her goblet. Honestly she didn’t care much for wine but it won’t do for the Crown Princess to be seen drinking iced milk with honey. She needed to put childish things behind her now. 

“Your pursuit is quite noble, but if you do not marry what will become of Tarth once your father’s time has come?” 

Brienne shifted uncomfortably making the pieces of blue tinted suit of armor clank against each other. She could tell that this was a question that Brienne had wrestled with herself. The weight of her family’s future rested squarely on her broad shoulders and wasn’t an easy burden to shoulder. 

“My lord father is a health man and Gods willing he will be with us a while longer.” 

“There is a practice in Volantis for situations like theses. The person in question handpicks an heir and trains them. The heir then abandons their old allegiances and takes on the family name of their mentor.” 

“I know little of Volantis, My Princess.” She replied curtly frowning into the contents of her goblet. Naerys batted at her foot with her paw scratching the knight’s boot.

Oh no. She misunderstood and assumed that Sansa was hinting that Lord Selwyn should replace her. Her self-esteem must be low indeed if she assumed that Sansa would favor some theoretical faceless noble over her. 

“As a reward for your service to me, when I am Queen I will introduce this custom to Westoros.” 

Brienne looked suspicious yet hopeful. 

“That way you can select your own heir and preserve your family legacy while remaining in my Queen’s guard.” 

“My Princess, you are too kind.” Brienne grinned sheepishly.

She didn’t miss that Sansa had not only provided her a solution to her problem but also offered her a position on her Queen’s guard. Sure it would be controversial at first but if Westoros was going to accept a Queen they’d have to learn to accept lady knights as well. 

“Not at all.” Sansa smiled brushing the other woman’s words aside with a wave of her hand. “I too know the burden of being a lord father’s only child and heir. Besides, I’m not doing it just for you. This way I won’t have to share you with your husband.” 

Brienne flushed making her freckles stand out all the more. Sansa didn't want to get too hopeful but she thought that this match might just work out. 

\----- 

"My Princess how you've grown." The Great Lion said extending his hand to her. 

Sansa slipped a piece of paper into his hand. On the piece of paper, she’d written the words "The mocking bird will set your twins free" in Valyrian. He took it and seamless tucked it into his doublet. 

"Grandfather," She replied curtsying to him. She opened her mouth to say more when Lancel called out:

“Uncle Tyrion, what a surprise!” 

Sansa looked over and saw her Uncle Tyrion lounging in a corner of the tent. What a surprise indeed. 

“I heard you’d been thrown through the Moon Door.” Tyrek said staring at the Imp in awe. 

“No, never fear your crafty cousin escaped the Stranger’s clutches!” He said in a theatrical tone that clearly grated on his father’s nerves. 

“It all started when Little Finger told Lady Stark that the assassin who tried to kill her son was using my dagger.” 

What? Tyrion continued on with her story but Sansa stopped listening. She had told Lady Catelyn that the assassin’s blade was her father’s. Why would she take Little Finger’s word over her own? They were going to be family; she should have taken her at her word. And why would Little Finger lie? As far as Sansa knew he had no quarrel with her Uncle Tyrion. Why would he try and frame him? What could he gain from that? 

“Tyrion,” Her grandfather interrupted. “Why don’t you take young Lancel and Tyrek to their fathers? I’m sure they’re quite tired.” 

“Of course.” He replied. “Come along boys, and I’ll tell you a tale of the mountain clans.”

“And no whoring.” Tywin called out after him his voice dripping with disgust. “Save it for your little Westerling bride.” 

Uncle Tyrion was finally getting married? It made sense their house needed more legitimate members. Still, it was a sign of how quickly they had fallen. Last year the Westerlings weren’t good enough for Uncle Kevan’s Willem but now one was going to marry the Great Lion’s only eligible son. 

“I assure you I have more than enough to go around.” The Imp replied with a wink. 

He waggled his eyebrows roguishly making Tyrek giggle. Lancel elbowed his young cousin to silence him. Tyrion gave a mock salute and shepherded his charges out of the crimson tent. There was a tense awkward silence as a million questions swirled around in Sansa's head. But she had to remember her manners she couldn't just demand that the patriarch share his plan with her immediately and thus relief her intense anxiety. 

"I tried to get here as fast as I could, but it was too late. How it is that the trail resolved so quickly?"

“Jaime confessed immediately. He gave quite graphic accounts of the conception of each of his brood. If it weren’t for that confession I could have made a case and helped them but.” Her lord grandfather sighed and shook his head. 

Her uncle was a king slayer who committed treasonous adulterous incest, but he won’t lie? His moral code made no sense. He could have decided to finally do the right thing in a search for redemption. But why would he be willing to sacrifice not only his life but also those of his lover and children? Surely that was too high a price to pay for redemption. 

Whatever his reason for giving it, Jaime’s confession proved that the accusations were true. Sansa had held out a sliver of hope that this had all been a terrible miscarriage of justice and that her dear lady mother was innocent but no. Queen Cersei was guilty of incest adultery and treason. There was no other explanation. 

“What of my mother?” 

“She hasn’t spoken since she took out Ser. Blount’s eye.” 

Sansa nodded. She could easily imagine her defiant mother refusing to dignify her interrogator’s questions with a response. She felt a sudden stabbing ache in her chest. She needed to see her mother no matter what the danger. Sansa would sneak down to the dungeons tonight. 

“So, will you storm the city?” 

Her words were too blunt and she immediately regretted them. He won’t discuss battle plans with his young granddaughter especially with Brienne in the room. The Great Lion’s mouth tightened and his lips thinned. Sansa had seen that look once before when a young Joffrey had patted their grandsire’s shinny bald head and tugged at his golden side-whiskers. 

“My Princess, when you’ve lived as long as I have you realize that some battles are won with swords and spears, some with quills and ravens, and some with cloaks and vows.”

Sansa frowned and cocked her head to the side. Cloaks and vows? Marriage. Matchmaking, now that was something she was good at. Sansa could use her influence to get Shireen betrothed to Lancel. Shireen was a lonely girl and eager for companionship. She would be easy to manipulate. Lady Selyse would probably be relieved to have such a handsome bridegroom for her deformed daughter. If she got the Baratheon women on board they could browbeat Stannis into submission. Mayhaps Sansa could guilt trip Renly into marrying her cousin Janei. No, it would best to spread their influence around. She should suggest that they send Janei to Highgarden to seduce the Tyrell heir. Marriages would be vital to restoring the Lannisters good name but she failed to see how they would help with their immediate problem. 

Sansa began to sense that her grandfather’s goal wasn’t saving his grandchildren but was, in fact, saving the reputation of House Lannister. But no, that couldn’t be. Maester Pycelle always said that her grandfather was all that a king should be, and kings protected their own. 

“From what I gather Joffrey can not be saved.” Her grandfather said casually with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“As for the others, there is still some hope. The question is how much will it cost the family to save them.” 

How was that even a question? You couldn’t put a coin value of a child’s life. This scandal already cost the Lannisters influence, power, and prestige how could fighting for Myrcella and Tommen make things worse? Begging and pleading with the King would cost him his pride but how could it not be worth it? Sansa knew that appealing to his emotions wouldn’t do any good so she quickly decided on a different tact. 

“You’ve always said that if anyone can act with impunity against someone from our house then we are no longer a house to be feared.” 

“Ah, but they aren’t from our house.” 

They were bastards, with no house to protect them, no one to fight for them but Sansa. 

“You are my only grandchild now.” 

His eyes bore into her with a predatory intensity. She felt as though he was judging the very contents of her soul. Sansa gulped but refused to break eye contact. Not only was she her father’s only heir, she was the main hope for resorting House Lannister to its former glory. That was going to be tricky since her vengeful father wanted the Lannisters destroyed. 

Her grandfather stood up and poured them each a goblet of wine. It had probably been years since he’d poured his own drink but it was the price to pay for privacy. Well…almost privacy. They were both very aware of Brienne’s presence. 

“Tell me, how do you find your betrothed?” 

At first Sansa was startled by the sudden change in topic but then she realized what he was getting at. Was the alliance secure? Could he count on her to keep the Northern wolves at bay? 

“He’s a good man, honorable and brave.” He would be a far better husband to her than her father could have ever been to any woman, even his beloved Lyanna. The thought made her proud. “He’ll make a fine husband and Prince Consort.” 

“Does he love you?” He asked handing her the golden goblet. 

Sansa flushed at the question and took the offered wine. Robb had never said the words but everything about the way he treated her implied it. Whatever was between them wasn’t simple a matter of duty and obligation anymore. 

“I believe so.” 

“Good.”

“Your mother was so angry about the limitations of her sex that she failed to take advantage of her position.” 

Sansa chewed on the inside of her cheek. She hated hearing anyone speak ill of her mother even her own grandfather. But she couldn’t jump to her defense. She needed him. Anyway Sansa was going to have to play the game now so she needed to start thinking like Tywin. Because even though she hated to admit it, her mother had lost. 

“Your father is a simple man a beautiful woman like her could have led him around by his nose if she wanted. But she stewed in her own bitterness instead of using her womanly wiles to her advantage. ” 

He wanted her to dominate Robb like her Great Aunt Genna did with her Frey husband. Robb was far cleverer than Emmon Frey but he would be easy to manipulate. He acted based on intuition and emotion rather than logic and reason. She’d already convinced him to give up Winterfell for her with ever little effort. Sansa felt guilt gnaw at her for thinking this way. She and Robb were meant to love one another and build a family together not play games. But then most of the families she knew played games and manipulated each other. She could feel Brienne looking at her. Her guilt grew knowing that some one as pure of heart as her sworn shield was watching this.

“Mother always strove to inspire fear in people,” She replied cautiously trying to be diplomatic. “but I would rather be loved.” 

Her grandfather gave her a parody of an indulgent smile. He took a sip from his goblet and gently shook his head. 

“You shouldn’t be too eager to please. It will make you appear weak.” 

“Love is not weak. Love cripples men, ruins families and topples dynasties.” 

For a moment Sansa worried that she had gone too far, contradicting her grandsire, the man whose help she desperately needed. But then she noticed a light twinkled in his gold-flecked eyes as he studied her. He looked almost impressed. Her grandfather advanced his gaze locked on her eyes. 

“You’re blessed in ways few women are. You’re blessed to be a member of the royal family and one of the most powerful families in the kingdoms, you’re blessed with beauty, and you’re still blessed with youth.” 

He cradled her face in his large cold hands. His voice was deep and soothing as ever but his words made her heart feel like it was going to burst out on her chest. 

“Do not waste these blessings as your mother did.” 

“I won’t.” Sansa whispered softly. 

“I will do what ever it takes to make you proud.” He smoothed back her dark hair. A smile crossed his lips but didn’t reach his somber eyes. 

“I know child, I know.” 

Suddenly there were sounds of a scuffle from outside and three knights in Baratheon colors bursts into their tent. 

“What is that meaning of this?” Tywin snapped. 

“The Queen and the Kingslayer have escaped.” The tallest man said. 

Already! My goodness Little Finger worked fast. And in board daylight too, how brazen. Sansa couldn’t possibly be blamed since she wasn’t even in the city at the time. But she had hoped that she would get to sneak down to the dungeons and say her goodbyes to her mother. Oh well, in time she’d be able to visit her in whichever castle her grandfather decided to hide his twins in. 

“The King has ordered that we search your camp.” 

“Princess Sansa,” Brienne chimed in. “We should get you back to the Red Keep.” She nodded still slightly dazed by the news. 

"Very well." Her grandfather sighed clearly annoyed and tired. 

“Until we meet again, My Princess.” And with that, he kissed her on the forehead. Sansa gapped. She’d never seen her grandfather be this affectionate with anyone before. What did it mean? 

\------

The castle was a mad house. Everyone was desperately trying to discover how in the world the Queen and King slayer had escaped while avoiding the King’s explosive fury. Apparently, he had taken to throwing whatever was on hand at the nearest servant or courtier and making them temporarily deaf with his thunderous bellowing. 

Sansa felt a strange satisfaction as Jyzene gave her an animated account of her father’s impotent tirades. According to her handmaiden, her father’s right eye had turned blood red when he heard the news of the escape. Grand Maester Pycelle said that it was a common symptom of extreme anger and stress. 

Grey Wind abruptly sauntered into her room. Jyzene glared at the beast in disgust. She still hadn’t forgiven the animal for savaging Ser. Brax, not that Sansa could really blame her. 

“Have you seen Robb?” It was rare for him to separate from his wolf. 

“Not since we broke our fast.” 

Grey Wind sat down in front of her let out a low whine before marching off. On a whim Sansa decided to follow him after all he might lead her to his master. He walked out of the castle and through the woods never looking back to see if she was there. As they wove their way through the trees she heard grunts and mumbling and the sound of metal cutting through wood. When Sansa walked passed a weeping willow she spot Robb hacking madly at a random oak tree with his sword sending bits of bark and wood flying into the air. He slashed chopped sliced manically as though the tree was the Stranger himself come to drag all the Starks down to the seven hells. Suddenly all of her worries and concerns left her mind her focus was entirely on the man before her. 

“Robb?” 

He turned around revealing his tear stained face and blood shot eyes. 

“He betrayed me!” He cried. 

“After everything we’ve been through he just…” 

“Who?” 

“Theon!” 

The blasted kraken! Sansa knew that Greyjoy was rotten to the core! 

“As soon as we left for King’s Landing he sent word to his father that now would be the perfect time to raid the North.” 

Her heart broke for Robb. She knew all too well what it was like to have family betray you. They should have brought him with them. It was so obvious now. Why hadn’t she seen it at the time! But no, she’d been wrapped up in her familial drama and Robb’s judgment was clouded because he mistakenly believed that all men were as honorable as he was. 

“They’ve seized Winterfell!” He groaned clenching his jaw and running a hand through his wild red curls. 

What? Winterfell was a formidable fortress built by Bran the Builder himself. How could a band of rogue raiders capture it? That should be impossible. Surely he was misinformed. It was probably a hoax perpetrated by some drunken fool. 

“He snuck into Bran’s room at night” He hiccuped fighting back a fresh wave of tears. “held a knife to his throat and demanded that Ser. Rickard let the Iron Born in.” 

Sansa gasped. How could he do that to Bran? Sweet Bran who’d grown up thinking of Theon as a brother and who’d idolized Greyjoy since that day in the Wolf’s wood when he’d slain the wilding and saved him. Had he no heart at all? 

Robb let out a deep guttural sound and smashed his fist into the nearest tree trunk. 

“I have to go. I’ll rally my men take back the North and hunt him down.” Sansa noticed that his knuckles were covered in blood. She took his trembling hand in hers and pressed gentle kisses to his wounds. “And before I chop off his head I’ll make him look me in the eye and tell me why.” He growled his eyes hardened by rage. 

Sansa nodded meekly. She understood better than anyone the need for answers. They couldn’t keep going on like this, almost family but not quite. She gripped onto the fabric of his doublet. She needed something solid in her life, something to ground her. 

“You’re right, but first we must marry.” 

“What? There won’t be time.” 

“I don’t care about the wedding,” Those were words Sansa never thought she would say. “I just… things keep getting in the way and I can’t stand the idea of you going off into battle before we’ve been married.”

Robb nodded before collapsing into her arms and weeping on her shoulder. Stunned and dazed she wrapped her arms around the broken man and whispered comforting words in his ear. She knew that these sweet nothings were probably lies but everyone deserved at little bit of hope.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thanks for all the kudos and comments.

Dinner was a grim affair. Sansa's father was Gods knew where doing Gods knew what and Lord Stark had locked himself in his tower frantically writing letters with instructions to his bannermen desperately trying to arrange taking back the North all the way from King’s Landing. According to Robb, the women of Bear Island were already planning a counter attack and Lady Catelyn and her uncle were heading to the Neck and planned to rally the Crannogmen. 

Arya was stabbing the wooden table while she ranted and raved about what she would do to Theon if she had the chance. 

“I’ll chop off his shriveled cock and then I’m stuff it down his throat and then…” 

“Arya!” Her poor septa cried turning white as a sheet and clutching her bosom. Sansa couldn’t help but smile. As vulgar and unpleasant as she found her future good sister she couldn’t help but find it funny that she was so similar to her older brother. 

“Sweetling, I understand that you’re eager to marry your sweetheart but we just won’t have time to organize a proper royal wedding.” Renly said his voice as sugar and sweet as honey. 

Sansa was immune to his charms the slimy snake had already shown his true colors. He’d betrayed Myrcella and Tommen and she couldn’t be sure that he won’t betray her too if he needed to save his skin.

“We need to invite all the members of the great houses and allow them time to travel…” 

“That’s why it won’t be a proper royal wedding.” Sansa stated firmly. 

She had thought this through. The simplest option would be for her and Robb to just find a septon and marry now but that would never due. What if she fell pregnant and gods forbid Robb died in battler? Then people would say that she’d made up the wedding in order to legitimize her royal bastard. No, there was more than enough scandal going on already. Their marriage could not be called into question and so it would need to be a public affair. 

“Those already at court will be the only nobles attending.” Renly opened his mouth to interrupt but she continued ignoring him.

“I want it to be a huge festival for the small folk. We’ll feed them from the castle’s kitchen and let them drink from our wine cellars.” She made a mental note to ask the bakers to put their royal crest on all the bread. Sansa turned to Little Finger. 

“We’ll need musicians jugglers, jesters, troubadours, acrobats, and fire-eaters performing throughout the city.” Surely he’d know the best entertainers. The Master of Coin nodded and looked as if he were mental compiling a list of who to hire for the event. 

“We’ll get married on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor so that everyone can see then we’ll ride through the city giving out alms.” 

A pained look crossed Lord Stannis’s face. Sansa wasn’t sure if it was because he disapproved of her unconventional ideas or because the thought people enjoying themselves gave him an ulcer. Either way, she didn’t give a hair for his opinion. She was going to be beloved and the only person who loved Stannis was Davos. Off in his corner Grand Maester Pycelle blithered about her kind heart but warned her that her charity might be taken advantage of. 

This wasn’t just the arbitrary whim of a fanciful young girl. She needed the people to support her and the new family she was forming. Robb would be viewed with suspicion as the cold backwards northern, while most people would think that Sansa was not up to the task of ruling because she was a woman. They would need ever scrap of goodwill they could get. 

\----  
Jyzene awoke her up early the next morning. 

“The King wants you up and dressed. He’s said he’s going to make a public announcement and wants you there.” 

Sansa frowned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. This was odd her father hated mornings. Why would he bother when he could just have the royal crier make the announcement? Then again mayhaps he had been up all night raging and whoring. She yawned and stretched out her limbs trying to wake up her weary body. The announcement was probably some huge reward for help with catching her mother and uncle. Sansa pulled on a pale blue gown with dragonflies embroidered on it and braided her dark hair into a single plait. Hopefully, whatever this was about would be resolved quickly. She had a rushed wedding to plan and siblings to save.  
\--- 

Noticing the huge crowd outside the Great Sept of Baelor Sansa wished she had worn something more formal and less juvenile. The people should see her as their majestic future queen, not a pretty young maid Her uncles and Lord Eddard were standing next to her father who was decked out in all his regal finery and even had a great sword strapped to his side. He was clearly feeling weak and overcompensating. That would explain why he had so many Baratheon soldiers and Ser. Ilyn Payne here. He wanted muscle and steel, a show of force. And what was she meant to do? Play the devoted daughter, make him look human and relatable? She rolled her eyes and clenched her jaw. At least she had Robb and Brienne with her. 

"My father won't tell me anything." Her betrothed whispered in her ear. "Do you know what's going on?" 

She shook her head and slotted their fingers together. She didn't know what was about to happen be she knew she would probably need Robb's support to get through in. Her father nodded to Ser. Janos Slynt who gave a signal to a man Sansa couldn’t see. 

And just like that several burly jailers were marching her siblings through the hostile crowd and up the steps of the Great Sept. They were shadows of their former selves shackled together and dressed in filthy rags. Brienne gasped beside her. Sansa gripped onto Robb’s hand like a vice. He kissed her temple his lips clammy and chapped. When they reached the top of the steps the King cleared his throat and stood. 

“My people, many of my advisers have asked that I spare these wretches” Her father gestured to the children he had once called his own with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “in light to the great service the Lannisters have done for the Seven Kingdoms over the years.” 

Sansa caught Tommen’s eye and mouthed the words: “I love you.” His lower lip wobbled and he looked down trying not to cry. Gods, she would give all the gold in the seven kingdoms to be able to run over and hug him. He would love her new kitten!

“My trueborn daughter your Crown Princess,” He gestured to Sansa and she smiled graciously at the crowd. “has even pleaded for their lives.”

She focused on her breathing to stay calm. In and out in and out. She needed to stay strong for Tommen and Myrcella. In and out, in and out. 

“I must admit that I was swayed by their council.” 

Was? Oh, Gods no. What about Lord Eddard’s promise? He’d said that he wouldn’t let innocent children die. Never again! Sansa snuck a look at the Lord Hand and was shocked to see that he seemed to have aged two years in the last two days. 

“But then yesterday the carven whore known as Cersei Lannister and her kingslaying brother have escaped in an attempt to evade my justice.” 

A wave of chatter swept through the crowd and the King patiently waited for it to die done. Remember to breathe. In and out, in and out. 

“Rest assured good people, they will be found and I will have my justice but for now, someone must pay the price for their treasonous crimes and who better than their spawn!” 

A bloodthirsty roar rose from the crowd and Sansa suddenly felt as thought she was sinking in quicksand. No! Gods, no! What had she done? This was all her fault! She had played the game of thrones and she had lost. But in a cruel twist of fate, her sibling would be the ones to pay the price!

Panicked, she looked over at her siblings, Tommen was weeping openly now and she wanted nothing more than to cover him with her body and shield him from all the pain and hurt in the world. Myrcella looked serene and regal. Gods, Sansa was proud to call her sister. Your Fault! Your Fault! Your Fault! The words hit her over and over again with the force of her father’s great war hammer faster and faster keeping in time with the manic beating of her heart and the pulsating throbbing in her head. 

“Joffrey Waters, falsely claimed to be of House Baratheon, bastard son of Jaime and Cersei Lannister, heir pretender to the Iron Throne." The royal pageboy announced with great aplomb.

Ser. Ilyn stepped forward placed an executioner’s block on the step. Two prison guards dragged Joffrey to the block as he struggled desperately. She was sinking deeper and deeper into the quicksand. 

Your Fault! Your Fault! Your Fault!

"Unhand me! I'm the prince! You can't do this to me!" He cried as they shoved him towards the executor’s block. "Father! I am your loyal son!” 

Your Fault! Your Fault! Your Fault!

“Mercy!” Sansa heard herself plea. “Mercy I beg you!” She rushed towards her father but Ser. Balon roughly pushed her back making her stumble and fall back into Robb’s arms. When had she become so dizzy? Her body felt as though it wasn’t her own.  


Your Fault Your Fault! Your Fault!

“Touch her again and I’ll gut you.” Brienne growled fingering the hilt of her sword menacingly as she positioned herself between Sansa and the rest of the guards. Sansa burst into tears. She was an idiot, a bigger fool than Moon boy! How could she possibly think that she could succeed in playing the game when her own mother had failed! She would have to pay for her arrogance for the rest of her life! 

“Don’t listen to them father!” Joffrey snarled out his voice shrill and filled with panic.

His face was as white as a ghostly specter or his eyes bulged out in fear. As Ser. Ilyn unsheathed his sword the light hit it and the glare burned Sansa’s eyes. Your Fault! Your Fault! Your Fault!

“His foreign fire priestess has driven Stannis mad and my cunt of a sister just wants to usurper me!” 

Your Fault! Your Fault! Your Fault! 

She was dimly aware of Robb holding her and could feel that her face was covered in snot and hot tears but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered but the fate of her siblings. 

"It's not fair!” Sansa screamed through her hysterical sobs. Her knees buckled and she stumbled into a kneeling position. 

“Please! It’s not their fault! It’s not their fault! Please, father, please! For my sake! For me, please!" She held her hands out begging like a street urchin in Flea Bottom. 

They could have been free! They could have lived it not for her! Why must they pay for her idiocy? 

"Kneel, Joffrey, and die like a man," Robert commanded his voice as cold and unforgiving as steel.

Trembling, her older brother got on his knees and bared his neck. YOUR FAULT! YOUR FAULT! YOUR FAULT!  
A guttural wail spilled out from her quivering lips, one final cry for help, the death rattle of a dying beast, the shriek of a bird having her wings ripped off. She had failed! Failed! Her vision flickered in and out as she rocked back in forth begging for forgiveness from Joffrey, from Myrcella and Tommen, from her mother and her grandsire and from the Gods old and news.

YOUR FAULT! YOUR FAULT! YOUR FAULT!

All of the sudden she couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air. Where had all the air gone? Her stomach spasmed and she wretched yellow bile coming out of her mouth and falling onto stone steps. The last thing Sansa remembered was the roar of the crowd as Ser. Illyn’s sword fell then she was enveloped by darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just keeps growing! I thought it was going to be quick and simple now that we're in the falling action but there are just some many emotions to deal with. Sorry that it's drawn out I'll get to the wedding (that we've been talking about since. Chapter 3 ) soon.

“Sansa!” 

“Sansa sweetling, wake up!” 

She slowly regained her senses. A bright light burnt her eyes and she shielded them with her hand. Her head was still throbbing like mad. Where was she? Could she make out Robb and Jyzene’s faces hovering over her? Wait, why was she lying down? 

“What happened?” She croaked out her voice rough and weak. “After I did they…” 

Jyzene nodded grimly. So it was true, all her siblings were dead. Her last ray of hope had been snuffed out. She was alone and it was all her fault. Her mother would never forgive her. She’d never be able to forgive herself. She was the personification of failure. Robb squeezed her hand to get her attention.

“Sansa, you have to know my father…he had no idea. He resigned his Handship in front of everyone and rode off north to reclaim Winterfell." 

"But you stayed." 

"Of course."

"Your father didn’t tell anyone what he was planning.” Jyzene explained in hushed tones. “He’s meeting with Lord Tywin right now they..." 

Sansa motioned for her handmaiden to be silent. Her head was spinning. She couldn't process all this. She wasn’t ready to plunge back into the world of political intrigued yet, truthfully she didn’t know if she’d ever be ready. Besides the worst had already happened. What good were machinations and plots if they couldn’t save innocent Myrcella and Tommen? 

“Lay down with me, please.” 

Robb shifted his weight from one foot to another and looked at both Brienne and Jyzene. Both women looked away refusing to be drawn into the discussion. Ever the gentlemen, he still thought her maidenhead mattered. Yesterday she would have shared the sentiment but today....what was the point?

“I don’t know if…” 

“You can lay on top of my blankets and I’ll lay underneath that way it’s not unseemly.” 

Robb took off his boots and lay down next to her on top of the blankets. He wrapped his arm around her pulling her to him. Sansa curled up next to him and resting her head on his chest. She greedily inhaled his scent and listened to his steady heartbeat wishing that she could just go to sleep and never wake up. 

\---

“Sansa! Sansa wake up!” 

She awoke startled to see her worried betrothed leaning over her.

“What it is?” 

“You had a nightmare you were kicking and screaming.” 

Sansa couldn’t remember the dream but her heart was pounding fast and the blankets were a tangled mess around her. She sat up and rested her forehead on her bent knee. What had she been dreaming about? It was hard to choose there were so many horrors that could have fueled her nightmare. She didn’t think her conscious would ever let her have a restful night’s sleep again. 

“Here, Jyzene brought us some refreshments you should drink something.” 

Robb handed her a goblet and watched her anxiously. Wordlessly she took it and drank. She barely tasted it as it passed her lips but she recognized it as iced milk with honey. This had been Myrcella’s favorite drink and now she would never taste it again all because of Sansa. The liquid was thick on her tongue and refused to go down. She coughed spitting it back into the goblet. Her hand started trembling. She tried to stop it but it seemed to have a will of its own. Robb quickly took the goblet from him before she could spill it all over her bed. 

"How do you think the Gods punish accidental kinslaying?" She asked too exhausted to care about polite conversation. 

Robb’s eyebrows knitted together and he looked puzzled. 

"Accidental? You mean if you kill someone and then later discover that they were your kin?" 

Sansa swallowed thickly and pushed herself to carry on. He loved her she was sure of it now. If she couldn’t talk to him than whom could she talk to? 

"No. I mean if you accidentally cause your kin's death." 

Robb frowned and sat back down next to her on her bed. Naerys leaped up onto the tray of refreshments that Jyzene had brought. She sniffed the pot of quince jelly quizzically before giving it and experimental lick. Satisfied she buried her face in the ruby colored confection. 

"I think that the Gods will severely punish your mother and uncle." 

Of course, they had committed incest and treason after all but what did that have to do with anything. Had he not understood her question? She thought she had been perfectly clear. 

"They had to know that by running away they were endangering their children. They were selfish cravens." 

He leaned over and reached for the side tray. Naerys stiffened at first but relaxed once she realized that he wasn’t going to steal her new favorite treat. He plucked a yellow apple from the tray and picked up a silver knife.

“But sin isn’t in the blood.” Sansa watched as he carefully peeled the skin off in one long curly strip. “I’ll never judge you for your mother’s deeds.” 

He looked down at her his warm blue eyes earnest. Robb handed her the freshly peeled apple and she stared down at it dumbly. 

Sansa could never tell him the truth ever. Robb was too good too honorable to possibly understand. Besides his best friend and foster brother had betrayed him and his King had just slaughtered innocence. He was already disillusioned enough. She couldn't force his psyche to take another blow.

Robb would learn the truth when she couldn't meet him in the afterlife because she was busy being tortured in one of the seven hells. She would have to spend the rest of her days atoning for her sins, not to escape the Gods’ torment but to make her life livable. But how? How could she even begin to atone for such colossal wrongs? She couldn’t imagine anything that could assuage the guilt that had seeped into ever inch of her soul utterly overwhelming her. 

\-----

Latter, when Robb had been called away and Sansa was alone she looked out her window at the stinking festering city below her. The sun was still shinning the winds still blowing the tides still came in and out. The world heartlessly relentlessly continued. Sansa could just open the window and jump out. A wave of sweet relief waved over her as she imagined ending it all. No more guilt, no more responsibility, no more pain disappointment and aching loneliness. What was stopping her? Honestly, what did she have to live for? Jyzene would miss her but she was clever and resourceful. She would probably end up living in some lavish mance in Essos and mayhaps name her first-born daughter after Sansa. 

Robb, he would mourn her she knew that much but he didn’t need her. Without her, he’d go back to being heir to Winterfell and there would be plenty of noble maidens to “comfort” him. Jealousy twisted in her stomach at the thought of her Robb being pawed at by other women. Would her death haunt him as Lyanna’s had haunted her father? Probably, not. But even if it did she couldn’t force herself to live just to avoid inconveniencing other people. 

Sansa could be just like Lady Ashara Dayne the tragic beauty who mad with grief for her brother and her bastard babe, had flung herself from her tower. The bards would sing songs of her, the princess driven mad by her father’s cruelty. In a way, she was more use to her family dead than alive. She wouldn’t be able to cause any more damage with her hair-brained schemes and the small folk would see her father for the monster he was. It was so tempting all she’d have to do was open the window climb out onto the ledge and jump. Just like that all of her problems would be over. But then she’d have to face Myrcella and Tommen in the afterlife. 

The door of her chambers creaked open as Jyzene floated in carrying a pile of fresh bed linens. Naerys darted in with her a flash of ginger fur. 

“Your Baratheon uncles have invented you and your betrothed to dine with them.” 

Of course, she thought bitterly chewing at the inside of her cheek. Even though Sansa wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bed and forget about the world she knew that it would be imprudent to refuse. 

“They invited Arya as well but her septa has locked her away in her room for some misdeed.” Jyzene added rolling her eyes as she stripped the bed of Sansa’s tangled bed linens. 

Apparently Arya was furious that her father had left her in King’s Landing and was acting out. Little did the septa know that a dinner in the company of Lord Stannis would have been a much harsher punishment for her charge. 

Sansa sighed heavily and reluctantly tore herself away from the window. She’d have to plan her escape from this world latter for now duty called. 

\----

From across the great oak table Stannis eyed her apparel with a critical eye. She was wearing a simple black gown. She hadn’t even bothered to braid her hair and she couldn’t so much as look at her vials of lavender oil without bursting into tears. What was the point in dressing well? What was the point of anything? 

His jaw tightened as he cut the fat off his hunk of lamb his knife squeaking loudly against the plate. Sansa covered her mouth as she yawned. Even though she'd spent countless hours sleeping she was bone tired. Renly served himself a hearty slice of pigeon pie and gave his niece an encouraging smile. Myrcella had loved pigeon pie and said that she wanted it served at her wedding. Now she would never wed, never fall in love, or raise beautiful children. All because of Sansa. 

“So, now that young Robb here isn’t rushing off into battle we have a bit more time to plan the wedding.” 

Robb frowned into his goblet of wine. Sansa knew that he felt badly for not being there when his father needed him and was truly touched that he had chosen to stay with her. 

“I’m not sure how many people can fit on the steps of the Great Sept we’ll have to ask…” 

“It can’t be at the Great Sept.” Sansa blurted out. “I’ll get married anywhere but there. I just can’t.”

“We can have the High Septon marry us in the Godswood.” Robb suggested. 

Sansa’s lips curled up in a flimsy imitation of a smile grateful that he’d intervened. She reached out and tucked a stray red curl behind his ear. Stannis coughed and looked away. Apparently, affection made him uncomfortable. What a surprise. 

“How quaint. We can say that it’s to symbolize the union of the North and the South.” 

Everyone would know the real reason. What person would want to be wed on steps stained with their siblings’ blood? Sansa pushed her food around her plate. Eating seemed wrong when Tommen could never do it again. All because of her. 

“I’m thinking of changing my wedding gown as well.” 

Renly’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak. He had recommended his own personal tailor to fashion the wedding gown and any failure on his part would reflect badly on him as a patron. He valued his position as tastemaker almost as much as his official title. 

“The cloth of gold gown is lovely and I’ll definitely wear it but for the wedding, I want something in black.” 

Stannis let his fork fall to the table with a clatter. He ground his teeth and narrowed his eyes. 

"It's highly inappropriate for you to be seen mourning the deaths of traitors." 

"I am merely showing my loyalty by wearing Baratheon colors uncle." Sansa replied coolly. 

“You can’t wear black in public. As if your display at the execution wasn't bad enough…” 

Display! How dare he! 

“I’m sorry if my reaction to my siblings’ executions displeased the King but if he didn’t want the people to see my grief than he shouldn’t have had me there.” 

Stannis looked as if someone had just shoved a steaming turd under his nose. Sansa could tell that he did not approve of her father’s actions, but he didn’t approve of her either. Why had her father made her witness the beheadings? Was it meant to be a message? This is what happens if you don’t obey? If she displeased him would he execute her on those very same steps and make Stannis or Edric Storm his heir? Why not? Did having his blood in her veins really guaranty her safety? 

“With any luck Shireen might arrive in time for the wedding.” Renly interjected desperate for a change of topic and a return to civility.

“Shireen?” 

"Yes.” Stannis replied tartly. “My daughter is sailing to King's Landing as we speak. She has lead a sheltered life and being at court will help to prepare her for her future marriage."

His speech seemed flat and rehearsed to Sansa. Stannis and his wife Selyse had very deliberately kept their daughter from the court and it seemed odd that they would suddenly change their minds especially after the Red Keep had been revealed to be a den of treason and sin. Mayhaps lonely Shireen had begged to come to the capital and they relented to make her happy but that seemed unlikely to Sansa. The one thing that her aunt and uncle had in common was their zeal for squashing out all happiness. It was the foundation of their loveless marriage. All things considered, her father was probably sending her cousin here to spy on Sansa. This afternoon her father’s pageboy had presented with three new handmaids for that very purpose. Sansa didn’t trust them one bit. They could clean her chamber pots and mend her gowns but that was all she’d use Jyzene for everything else. 

Sansa picked out all the chunks of meat from her pie and organized them on her plate according to size as she contemplated this turn of events. So her father and uncle had decided to turn what little kin she had left against her. Fine. She could beat them at that game. Her father used fear to control people and her Uncle Stannis relied on duty but she had a much more powerful weapon, love. She looked up and studied Stannis gaunt face in the flickering candlelight. She had already stolen his place in the line of succession, now she'd steal his own child's loyalty. It would be her revenge for his part in Myrcella and Tommen's demise. 

\------

Since her sanctuary had been violated by the presences of her father’s spies Sansa could no longer stay in her catatonic stupor. She couldn’t appear weak before them. Unable to think about the past or contemplate the future, she needed a project to ground herself in the present. So she created one. Sansa had ordered her handmaidens to deconstruct all the royal families old clothes so that they could reuse the fabric to make quilted blankets for the needy. After all, winter was coming. 

They’d removed all the pearls and gems from Myrcella Tommen and Joffrey's clothes. At first, Sansa wasn't sure what to do with her mother's wardrobe. Yes, she was alive but would she ever get to return to the Red Keep again? She couldn't send her clothes to where ever she was hiding. Sansa bundled up her mother's favorite gowns and had Jyzene deliver them to Lord Tywin with a message saying that she thought they might hold sentimental value. She couldn’t bear to face her grandsire yet. Sansa removed the pearls and gems from the rest of her mother's clothes culled her own wardrobe and gave the discarded clothes the same treatment. She sent Jyzene to he market to sell all the pearls and gem. Sansa hadn’t decided what to do with the money yet but she was sure she would find some worthwhile charity. 

As Sansa carefully ripped the seam on one of Joffrey's woolen doublets she marveled at how painless the work was. At first, she had worried that taking apart her family's clothes would be emotional. She had seen the emotional pain as inevitable and a part of her penance for her sins but she felt nothing. The manual labor gave a purpose to her nervous energy and helped to keep her darker thoughts at bay. Besides they were just things, useless things. It shocked her how much time and energy she had wasted on useless things in her young life. She really was an empty-headed waste of space. The world would be a far better place if she had never been born. 

Sansa eyed the intruders, Elspeth Rosby a rosy-cheeked lass with an obnoxious giggle who was clearly her family’s pawn, Johanna Swann a flirtatious maiden who had never been this far from her family’s seat before and Alys Thorne a black eyed waif who’s uncle was in the Night’s Watch. 

“Pardon me My Princess, but wouldn’t our time to better served preparing for your wedding?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. She was sick of all their questions about her quickly approaching wedding. What eligible nobles would be there? What music would be played? How many courses would be at the feast? They reminded her of herself back when she thought good intentions were enough before she knew what evil truly looked like. So far Sansa had refused to engage in such mindless chatter and focused on the task at hand. The truth has that she felt very guilty whenever she thought about the wedding. She didn’t deserve it, and she definitely didn’t deserve her betrothed. 

Johanna nodded eagerly in agreement fixing Sansa with her hopeful doe eyes. 

“Yes sweet princess, these charitable endeavors are most admirable but surely the poor can wait until after your glorious wedding.” 

She turned to Alys for support but she kept her eyes on her work as she methodically cut the crimson tunic before her into stripes. So far Sansa liked Alys best. Of course, that didn’t mean that she trusted her. 

“Oh and what would you like us to wear?” Johanna added letting the leather jerkin she was meant to be working on drop into her lap. 

“Stark colors, solid white and gray.” 

Elspeth and Johanna looked miffed. How were they meant to attract husbands when they were dressed in such drab and severe colors? Inspired by their distress Sansa continued. 

“Wear your hair down in the Northern style and no jewelry.” 

Elspeth fought back a gasp. The Rosby lass loved to gild the lily, her head always had more decorations on it than hair. Stupid girl, appearing plain was the greatest calamity she could wrap her tiny mind around. Gods above Sansa envied the brat her naivety. 

Finding a new use for all these clothes gave Sansa another idea. Best of all she wouldn’t need her handmaiden’s help for this project.  
\-----

Sansa surveyed the orphanage’s stone courtyard. A group of young boys was enthusiastically staging an epic battle with the army of wooden knights that Joffrey had abandoned years ago. A gaggle of girls sat off in the corner playing with Myrcella and Sansa’s old dolls, brushing their hair and marveling at their fine clothes. A giggling toddler ran past Sansa chasing after Tommen’s big red ball on his stubby little legs. 

“What else do you need?” 

The young septa shook her head demurely and folded her hands in her lap. 

“My Princess your generosity is…” 

“What about shoes?” Sansa interrupted desperately to be of use. “We have plenty of shoes. Some of them were never even worn.” 

The septa’s face flushed revealing a patch of freckles on each cheek. Once after coming back from a long hunting trip with her father Sansa had gotten freckles on her face and hands. Joffery had teased her saying that she looked like she had the pox. Myrcella had told him to shut up, and Tommen had made her feel better by tracing the constellations with her freckles. 

“Well, if it won’t be too much trouble we could certainly use them.” 

“Excellent, I’ll bring them as soon as possible.”  
\---

“Princess!

Sansa turned around and saw a gangly little girl wearing what looked like a mud colored sack running towards her. Brienne turned to her looking for the approval that she knew was coming. Sansa nodded and Brienne moved aside letting the little girl approach. 

When she reached them the young girl made a clumsy attempt at a curtsey and held out a scraggly yellow flower, probably a weed of some sort. 

"I'm sorry for your loss, princess." 

And with those six simple words her public persona was ripped off leaving her raw, exposed, naked. This urchin of Flea Bottom was showing her more compassion than her own kin. Sansa knelt down so that she was at eye level with the child. She had limp straw colored hair a gap between her two front teeth and her breath smelt of onions but she was beautiful in the way that all children are. 

“Thank you.” Sansa said struggling to keep her voice from cracking with emotion. She gingerly took the yellow flower from the girl’s hand and tucked it behind her own ear. 

“What’s your name sweetling?” 

“Alayne, milady.” said the little girl blushing under Sansa’s attention.

“That’s a beautiful name. I have something for you too Alayne.” 

Sansa removed a decorative pin from her head letting a tendril of jet-black hair fall lose. The pin was made of pure gold and covered in tiny diamonds and sapphires. It was probably worth more than everything Alayne’s entire family owned put together but Sansa won’t miss it. 

Alayne’s amber eyes grew as wide as saucers just like Tommen’s used to do. 

"Thank you, princess!" She squealed clutching the trinket to her chest. 

Brienne leaned down from her great height and gave little Alayne a very stern look. 

“Now Alayne, you must hurry home and don’t show the princess’s gift to anyone along the way. Do you understand?” 

Alayne nodded so vigorously Sansa worried that her neck would snap and scampered off. 

Sansa rose and mounted Jonquil. Alayne and the septa at the orphanage probably thought that she was a good and virtuous woman, if only they knew the truth. 

As they rode back to the Red Keep something dawned on her. No one could fully understand Sansa’s pain in full because no one was as wicked as her. But her knight Brienne had seen her siblings die.

"Brienne?" 

"Yes, My Princess?" 

"Does if ever stop hurting?" 

Her face fell as she instantly caught on to Sansa’s meaning, her dapple-gray mare, Cloud, let out a plaintive whinny as if in sympathy. 

"No, My Princess. The pain changes but it never truly goes away." 

"Thank you for your honesty Evenstar." 

\-----  
The royal pageboy who was quickly becoming one of Sansa's least favorite people greeted them as soon as they entered the keep. 

"Lord Tyrion requests your company in the west garden." 

Sansa had never cared for her impish uncle. After all, her mother hated him and someone who cared so much for the family won't turn her back on her blood unless there was a very good reason for it. Still, the imp might be acting as his father's messenger. 

"Very well."  
\----

Sansa spotted Lord Tyrion at the entrance to the western gardens leaning up against a mossy rock underneath a magnificent weeping willow. 

"Aw if it isn't my favorite niece." He bowed low and kissed her hand. She was his only niece now she thought bitterly making her heart ache.

“Uncle, it is a pleasure to see you again. You’re looking well.” 

The words were right but she couldn’t muster the correct lint to make them sound sincere. Pretending to be alright was terribly taxing and the strain was starting to wear her down. 

They strolled wordlessly through the garden. Sansa had to be careful not to walk too fast for her diminutive uncle to keep up. Brienne was walking as slowly as possible to give her and Lord Tyrion a wide berth. 

"How go the King's talks with Lord Tywin?" Sansa asked trying to appear neutral by addressing the men by their titles rather than by their relationship to herself. 

“He’s agreed to make your second son the heir to Casterly Rock." He said waddling beside her. 

"That appealed to King a bit but it’s still unlikely that he’ll be offered the Handship” 

The Westerlands ruled by a Baratheon that would please her father immensely. He didn’t have to know that Sansa would have her second son take the Lannister name and sigil. A golden lion would always rule the west. That’s what her mother would want and so it would be. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He shook his large head and waved her apology way with a flick of his wrist. 

“Tis no matter. I never expected to be his heir anyway. He’s already sent Janei to Highgarden so that we can be bound to the Tyrell’s without Joffrey.” 

Sansa nodded making a mental note to write to her cousin. Margarey had told her much of her eldest brother so she could give Janei information and tips to seduce the heir. Plus it would be good to have a spy amongst the roses. She didn’t trust that Margarey was just going to let go of her dreams of being queen.  


“He’s also trying to arrange that Shireen marry Lancel despite the boy’s protests.” 

Marrying Shireen to Lancel would help her grandsire but was that what was best for Sansa and her reign? This would set the tone for her new relationship with her cousin. A cluster of nobles bowed and curtsied as they walked by and Sansa gave them a nod of acknowledgment. As soon as she turned her head she heard them whispering. They made quite a sight, the reclusive Crown Princess dressed in mourning for her traitor siblings talking to her uncle the infamous imp. They probably thought they were conspiring together.

“Shireen shall marry Trystane Martell.” Tyrion froze and turned to look at her. 

What? Her reasoning was sound. Sansa needed to ally herself with the Martells in spite of her Lannister blood and secure Dornish loyalty. Plus the match would strengthen her relationship with Shireen. Sansa would be seen as going against the interests of her mother's house and uniting two of the few nobles left with Targaryen blood would show that she wasn't afraid of the potential threat they posed. This would cast doubt on the lies the King and Lord Stannis had no doubt told Shireen about Sansa being out to get her. On a personal level, Trystane was far more desirable than Lancel and one of the few things she knew about her cousin was that she yearned for adventure so going to Dorne would be a dream come true. 

“It is what will benefit the crown the most in the long run.” She continued allowing herself to think aloud. 

“Grandfather should offer Lancel as a squire to Lord Edmure. We’ll need to start repairing our relationship with the Riverlands. If he refuses he can send him as to squire at the Eyrie perhaps with Ser.Brynden. Lady Lysa is an odd fish and it would helpful to have eyes on her.” 

Sansa should probably try and forge a relationship with her future good mother to easy relations with the Tullys. But how was she meant to do that when Lady Catelyn was off fighting her husband’s battles? They walked passed two of her mother's former ladies in waiting perched on a stone bench embroidering a large banner with the sigils of both House Baratheon and House Stark, decorations for her wedding.

“All the Lannister girls are too young for Lord Edmure but we could always send some of Great Aunt Genna’s girls to Riverrun and hope that one of them catches his eye. Once you get a daughter by your Westerling wife you can send her there to be brought up as the little Lord Arryn’s future bride.” 

That poor Westerling girl engaged to a drunken whore-mongering dwarf. Just one of those traits would be bad enough but to be married to a man who was all three. Still, life was most unfair and the sooner everyone learned that the better. Tyrion lead them down a narrow trail lined with very fragrance plants. The combination of all the scents made Sansa mildly nausea but she could see no courtiers lurching down this path. 

“You’re a clever girl.” Her Uncle observed his mismatched eyes twinkling with something akin to admiration. 

Clever, the word pierced her like a dull knife in the gut. Clever, if only he knew. Perhaps it would have been better if she had been born mute as well as stupid at least then she wouldn't have been harmless instead of an agent of despair and destruction. Gods what was she doing making suggestions about marriages and alliances! Hadn't she learned her lesson? She couldn't trust herself! She was cursed doomed even!

“I’m not half as clever as I thought I was.” 

“That still makes you twice as clever as the late Joffrey.” Tyrion quipped with a wicked grin wiping his bulbous forehead with a lacey handkerchief mopping up his sweat and pushing his pale blonde hair out of his eye.

Sansa halted immediately. How could he be so callous? Whatever else he was Joffrey was still his nephew. The earth hadn't even settled on his grave. Or wait... Had he been buried? Had any of them been buried? Sansa was afraid to ask. Her stomach heaved at the image of Myrcella and Tommen's heads on spikes and she was glad that she hadn't eaten anything today. Come to think of if when was the last time she's eaten? 

Sensing that his jape had fallen flat Tyrion cleared his throat hurriedly pressed on. 

“You have a true gift for this game.” 

Keep it together, she told herself. Sansa just had to keep it together a little longer then she could go stew in her misery in private. 

“No, I…” 

“Don’t be modest my dear! You think strategically keeping the big picture and your endgame in mind…”

Sansa shook her head hoping that he would take the hint and be quiet. Each word he spoke made it harder and harder to hold the storm of emotions that she was keeping bottled up inside. She bit down hard on her bottom lip and the hot salty taste of blood flooded her mouth. If she were by a ledge she'd jump off without a second thought. 

“Not everyone has a mind like that." 

"I can't be queen." She blurted out. The dam had broken, the floodgates were open. There was no turning back. Big fat tears were already rolling down her cheeks. Damn the imp to the seven hells! Sansa had been so close but no he just had to keep pushing. 

"Stannis will have to be father's heir." 

“What? No one wants Stannis for a king he’s got all the personality of a lobster and the charisma of a frozen turd!” 

"I can’t! I tried and I…” She hiccuped choking on her own hot tears flooded with crushing shame. 

“I tried to help but I ruined everything. Everything I touch turns to ash!" And with that Sansa ran off.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this section was just supposed to be the beginning of the final chapter before the wedding but then it took on a life of it’s own. She goes through so many emotional stages that it seemed wrong to just tack it on and rush through them. 
> 
> Yet again I paraphrased some lines from Tywin’s speech to Jaime in the T.V. show. I thought they were appropriate. As for Robb…well just remember he’s very much his father’s son and Ned left Catelyn after Bran’s fall.

"It's pathetic!" Johanna hissed. 

Sansa froze in the antechamber and leaned forward to better eavesdrop on her handmaidens. 

"Watching her try to prove herself as virtuous as the maiden as if anyone will ever forget that she's the daughter of a treasonous whore!" 

Brienne's eyes flashed with anger and she took a step forward ready to storm in and confront the gossiping two faced maidens but Sansa grabbed her robust arm and motioned for her to stay silent. Hearing insulting gossip was like rubbing salt in her open wounds but she needed to know what was being said. 

"I heard that the Queen is a witch." Sansa recognized Elspeth's Crownland’s lilt. 

"They say that she was spiking the King's food with potions for years and that's why it took him so long to notice her betrayals." 

Sansa scoffed and rolled her eyes. Of course, it couldn't have been because her father spent his whole marriage in a drunken stupor and paid little to no attention to his children true and base born alike. No, it had to be magic that was the only explanation. 

"That would explain how she and the Kingslayer escaped!" Exclaimed the gullible Johanna her voice filled with a kind of morbid excitement.

"She must have cast a very powerful spell. Mayhaps even blood magic!" 

"Do you think the queen taught the princess her witchcraft?" 

"Probably, they say that magic runs in the blood." 

Sansa smirked. Once she told Jyzene about this she’d find a way to convince her fellow handmaidens that all Lannisters were masters of the dark arts. They could find a way to make these rumors work in her favor. She could be feared without having to actually do anything fearsome. 

"Then her children will be very powerful, what with the Lannister's witchcraft, the Baratheon’s dragon blood and the Stark's shape-shifting abilities." 

Sansa heard a dark dry laugh from the other room. 

"What are you laughing at?" Johanna huffed haughtily. 

"You two sound like a pair of ignorant fishwives." quipped Alys Thorne. 

Before with handmaidens could reply Sansa decided to enter the room. They instantly fell completely silent. 

\--

Sansa dismissed her handmaidens telling them to continue their work without her and flung herself onto her bed. Even though she buried herself in a cocoon of blankets rest evaded her.

She was plagued with thoughts of suicide. Sansa couldn’t decide if it was the ultimate act of bravery, befitting a true lioness, or the refuge of a cowardly doe. By killing herself she would be making her own choice for once, taking her life into her own hands refusing to play their game. Or was suicide admitting defeat? Forfeiting and letting her father win. But if she lived then her father also got what he wanted, his own Baratheon Crown Princess. She would have to play the devoted daughter until his death, which knowing her luck wouldn’t be for ages. 

Sansa groaned and rolled over struggling to find a comfortable position so she could drift off into sweet oblivion. If only Ser. Brax had succeeded in his attempt to kidnap her! Then the Lannisters could have held her hostage and demanded that her father release her family in exchange for her freedom. But no Grey wind just had to kill him before he got the chance! Stupid flea-bitten beast! This was all his fault! Sansa immediately felt guilty for having that thought. Of course, it wasn’t Grey Wind’s fault. What kind of person uses an animal as a scapegoat? 

“Princess,” Jyzene’s voice intruded on her internal tirade. “your lord grandfather is here to see you.” 

“Tell him I’m unwell.” Sansa groaned placing a goose feather pillow over her head. 

“Get up.” The second she heard that unforgettable voice a shiver shot through her spine and she sat bolt upright. There is her bedchamber stood the Great Lion himself in all his grandeur. 

“My Lord I…” 

“Sit.” He commanded gesturing to a table and chair by the window. 

Sansa clambered out of bed and sat down at the table. Feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable seeing her grandfather in such an informal setting, she smoothed out her linen nightgown and ran her finger through her black mane praying that it wasn’t too tangled and frizzy from all her tossing and turning. 

A Lannister guard stepped forward and placed a basket onto Sansa’s table. Tywin demised the guard and Jyzene with a minute wave of his hand. He walked over to the table but instead of sitting down across from her he opened the basket and pulled out food, a large loaf of bread, a wheel of cheese etc. What? Were they to share a snack in her bedchamber? He pulled out a dagger from his belt. Sansa noticed that the golden hilt was in the shape of a lion. 

"No matter what your father may say you are a Lannister.” Tywin stated coolly slicing into the loaf of oat bread with his dagger.

Now that it had been cut open Sansa could see that the bread was baked with bits of date, apples, and oranges. It smelled good as though it had just come out of the baker’s oven but her stomach tied itself in knots at the thought of eating it. 

“Lannisters don’t act like fools.” He intoned each word sounding as though had been chiseled from a block of ice. 

“They don’t pout and sulk when things don’t turn out the way they planned.”

Sansa’s jaw dropped and she openly gaped at him. Pout? Didn’t turn out the way she planned? First, the cold bastard did nothing to help Myrcella and Tommen and now he dared to trivialize what she was going through? She felt as though a man wearing a gauntlet had just punched her in the gut. Her grandsire ignored her look of outrage cut three thick slices off the loaf and plopped them down onto a silver plate. 

“You must adapt and use the situation to your advantage.” 

He continued, craving a fat wedge out of the wheel cheese with his dagger. Her mother had told her this before. She wanted to ask about her but she knew that he wouldn’t answer her here. Inside the Red Keep, even the walls had ears. 

“Your father made a huge blunder by having you present at the executions."

"He must have known what my reaction would be." Sansa muttered darkly picking at her ragged cuticles. 

"His actions were fueled by rage instead of thought. But you’ve gained the smallfolks’ attention and sympathies don’t waste it.”

How was Sansa meant to use it to her advantage? Yes, she could make them love her but to what end? It won’t bring Myrcella and Tommen back and that’s all the mattered. If she couldn't use her power and position to protect those she loved then what good was it? What was Sansa meant to strive for now that she’d lost everything so irrevocably? 

Tywin smeared butter evenly over the slices of bread then placed a hearty slab of yellow cheese on top of each of them. He looked up from his work and held her gaze. The intensity in his eyes reminded her of a cobra staring down its prey hypnotizing them. 

“I need you to become the woman you were born to be, not next year, not tomorrow, now.” 

And just like that her grandsire looked away and his spell was broken. He added a rasher of fried bacon to the plate and pushed it across the table towards her. 

“Eat.” He commanded. 

“I don’t…” 

Lord Tywin narrowed his green-gold eyes crossed his arms and glared down at her. 

“You will eat every last bite.”

After everything Sansa had been through in the past few days she didn’t have the strength to endure a battle of wills with the Great Lion. She sighed picked up one of the slices and took a bite. The dense coarse texture of the bread combined with the tart salty cheese contrasting with the rich sweet butter. She swallowed down a moan of pleasure and instantly felt guilty for enjoying it so. 

Sansa chewed her bite thoroughly and considered her current position. Her grandsire was right. She couldn’t surrender herself to her emotions and give her father the satisfaction of seeing her weak and unhinged. But how could she continue on when she was overwhelmed with guilt and filled to the brim with impotent rage? 

Sansa sighed and took another bite of the bread and cheese as her lord grandfather watched her silently. Eating was making her feel.. sharper and more stable. Her mother had been miserable but she had not allowed her emotions to make her appear weak. She had kept up appearance and put up a façade and that was exactly what Sansa would have to do. Still, it hadn’t truly worked in her mother’s case. Her hatred and anger had eaten away over the years and Sansa couldn’t let that happen to her. She’d have to find a more permanent solution but for now, she’d just have to throw herself back into daily life and conceal her inner turmoil. 

Right there and then Sansa decided that she would not just survive but thrive. That would be the best revenge of all.

Her grandfather watched her like a hawk as she slowly but surely ate every morsel of food on the plate. He said nothing but his message was crystal clear. She was his granddaughter and heir to the throne and he would not allow her to stand in her own way. 

"Well," Tywin said finally breaking the long tense silence. "I've ordered dinner to be served for you and your betrothed in your private rooms. You'd better get ready." 

\-----

Sansa soaked in a piping hot bath rubbed essence of rosemary in her hair. Delighting in the fresh sharp scent Sansa made a mental note to have Elspeth's rid her chambers of lavender oils and replaced it with that of rosemary. She needed a signature scent had didn't remind her of her mother and make her sob. Now as she and Robb eat dinner off the mahogany table while Jyzene played the high harp for them in the corner, they were the picture of respectability. Yes, she decided to dressed all in black but with her sapphire hairnet and the lapis lazuel pendant that Robb had fixed for her, she looked like a polished princess rather that a woman driven mad by grief. She could do this. She could play at being normal and happy. After a while pretending would become second nature to her Sansa thought grimly as she pushed braised apples about her plate.

“I got lost on my way here,dinning" Robb said taking a piece of mutton from his plate and feed it to Grey Wind who sat dutifully by his master’s side. 

Normally Sansa would find it uncouth to have pets dining room especially pets who had killed a knight and broken her favorite cousin’s heart, but Grey Wind wasn’t a pet. He was the Stark sigil come to life a symbol of power. 

"and I stumbled upon Lord Baelish with one of your handmaidens." 

Sansa froze with her fork halfway between her plate and her mouth. 

"Oh really? Who?"

"The one with the dark eyes.” He replied casually as he scratched Grey Wind behind his right ear. 

Alys? No! Compared to the vapid nattering of Elspeth and Johanna Alys had been a breath of fresh air. 

“They were huddle together whispering.” 

Sansa shared a look with Jyzene and she nodded solemnly. Wordlessly communication was one of the benefits of growing up together. Sansa knew that her cousin would dig up any and all dirt on Alys and the entire Throne family to neutralize the threat. She could always frame her for stealing something and send her away Sansa thought as she swallowed her forkful of braised apple with cheese and nuts. But then Little Finger would know that she was on to him. No, they needed to make her a double agent and use her to feed Little finger false information. Sansa wasn’t going to give that greedy little man any more control over her life. 

“He's an old friend of my mother’s so I’m surprised to find him to be a lech.” 

Poor innocent Robb thought that Little finger wanted Alys for her body. If only he were that simple. She found his naiveté endearing. Robb was too honorable for this city and its games, which was why she trusted him so. 

“I’ll warn her to steer clear so him. Even with his wealth and position, the Thrones would never approve of the match.” She replied serving herself some roundels of elk stuffed with ripe blue cheese. 

“Anyway I was thinking, after our wedding, we should go on a royal pilgrimage to the Starry Sept in Oldtown.” 

They could prove their piety and win back any support that they would lose by marrying in the Godswood. People might be apprehensive about having a Crown Princess but Sansa felt that if the lords of the Reach saw what a handsome and dynamic couple they were it would ease their minds. Robb nodded but refused to meet her gaze. He stirred his Oxtail soup letting his spoon scrape against the bottom of the bowl. Sansa would have thought that he’d be glad to get out of the capital. He’d always longed for adventure and this was his first time out of the North. Why wasn’t he chomping at the bit to go exploring? 

“The Reach is lovely. I know you’ll enjoy it more than the Crownlands.” 

Robb remained silent and stubbornly stared down into his bowl of soup as though it held the answer to life’s greatest questions. 

“We can bring Arya if you like.” She offered. 

Honestly Sansa had been hoping to get a break from the Stark girl. Recently she’d started terrorizing poor Naerys chasing her everywhere. Growing up with Joffrey had made her a little overprotective of her pets. 

“It’s not that it’s…" He sighed and finally looked up his sky blue eyes glinting in the candlelight. "After the wedding, I plan to ride North to help my father.” 

Sansa felt as though someone had just pulled her chair out from under her.

“What?” 

“You approved of the idea before.” He reminded her quickly already getting defensive. 

Yes, but that was before! Back when his father was stuck in the South making Robb the only one who could represent his house. Back when Myrcella and Tommen had been alive! Couldn’t he see that everything had changed! That her whole world was different now! Besides, as Prince Consort, his place was here not at Winterfell. Sansa chewed the savory elk meat until it turned into a flavorless paste in her mouth. Taking her time so she wouldn’t say something that she couldn’t take back. Finally, she swallowed. 

“Robb, for all you know the fighting might end before you even get there.” 

“It’s not just Winterfell. The Iron Born have taken Deepwood Moten as well. And even if we’ve reclaimed our strongholds by the time I get there there’s always the matter of retaliation.” 

Sansa pushed back her disappointment and nodded slowly. It wasn’t fair but this was the price to be paid for loving an honorable man. His duty would always come before her. Getting emotional right now won't help anyone.

“Very well. All I ask is that you stay long enough for us to have a chance to conceive.” 

Robb’s face turned as red as his hair and he choked on a spoonful of soup. 

“Of course.” He coughed out.

Under different circumstances Sansa would never be brazen enough to mention such things but she was a Crown Princess now. These were not just personal intimate matters but an issue of the kingdoms' security. Her consort couldn’t go off to battle before doing his duty to the realm and securing their line.

Still, she felt unprepared. All she knew about coupling was that the man stuck his cock in the woman and it hurt. Sansa had always thought that she’d have her mother by her side to tell her what to expect during the bedding and that Myrcella would be there to badger her with naughty questions in the morning. She supposed she could always ask Jyzene for advice but it just won’t be the same. Sansa had always assumed that in the days before her wedding the bedding would be her main source of anxiety. Gods above she had been so wrong. 

“What about Arya?” 

Robb sighed and ran a hand through his copper curls in frustration. 

“She’ll want to come but father would never forgive me.” 

So, she was to stay here? He planned to wed and bed her only to abandon her with a willful brat and her wild direwolf companion. What on earth was Sansa to do with her? Arya was too young and unruly to be a lady in waiting. Still, it would be her duty as a lady wife to look after her good sister and ease her lord husband’s mind. 

“I’ll look after her. It will be nice for Shireen to have a noble girl her own age at court.” 

Robb’s entire body relaxed and he flashed her a boyish grin to show his gratitude. 

“Thank you." He reached over took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. "I know she can be a handful but it will give you a chance to get to know each other better.”

Sansa barely repressed an eye roll at that. Arya had shown nothing but contempt for Sansa and her world and more time together wasn’t going to change that. But crushing his optimism would be pointless so instead she just gave him her most gracious smile.  


Now that the matter was settled Robb’s mood visibly lightened and began talking animatedly about a letter he’d received from his mother. Sansa smiled and nodded but she couldn’t concentrate. He was abandoning her and throwing himself in danger’s way. She might lose yet another loved one. Images of Robb lying dead in a bloody ditch flashed through her mind. His virile young body ripped to shreds, his sweet blue eyes being plucked out by crows. It was all too much! She needed to throw herself into another project to keep her mind off it all. 

\---

“Stop squirming!” snapped Master Forley Ryndoon tugging at his bright blue beard in frustration. 

“It tickles!” retorted the small orphan girl as the cobbler’s green haired apprentice struggled to measure her soot covered feet.

The royal cobbler had been hesitant at first but eventually Sansa had convinced him to agree to her plan. They would use the material from the royal family’s old shoes to make a pair of shoes for each of the city’s orphans. Sansa suspected that the cobbler felt guilty for unwittingly playing a part in her family’s downfall by telling her Uncle Stannis about her unusual feet. 

After his second glass of pear brandy Master Forley had confessed his frustrated that all his good work was covered up by ladies’ gowns and since the ladies knew that no one would see their feet they ordered plain and boring footwear. If Sansa made it the fashion to wear slightly shorter gowns and display stylish shoes Forley would be in her debt. Since he was the head of the city’s cobbler guild she could use his influence to convince the whole guild to donate a pair of shoes to the needy once a year. It would mean displaying her freakish duck feet to the world but everyone already knew about them anyway thanks to her Uncle Stannis. 

It was a small scheme, hardly a scheme at all really but she was fairly sure that there was no away it could hurt anyone. Dealing with anything bigger than shoes sent her into a panic. Politics was playing with fire and Sansa was terrified she’d burn the kingdoms to the ground if she tried her hand at it again. 

The Tyroshi cobbler looked dismayed at the horde jostling chattering children waiting in line to have their feet measured for their very first pair of new shoes. His gangly young apprentice gave her a pleading look. Sansa turned to the head septa. 

“Do you have anything to measure with?” 

“Well, yes. We make all our own clothes so…” 

“Excellent! If you lend us your tools my handmaidens and I can help take the children’s measurement and this can move much faster.” 

Elspeth turned white and clutched at the rope of salt-water pearls around her neck eyeing the orphans as though they were a pack of ravenous wolves getting ready to devour her. Johanna pouted waving a heavily perfumed handkerchief under her nose to drown out the smell of poverty. The traitorous Alys just glared down at the stone floor sullen as ever. Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw Brienne and Jyzene exchange sly grins. She knew those two would get along. 

“Oh my princess, that’s very kind but it’s not necessary.” The head septa demurred.

“Yes,” added Johanna nodding emphatically. “I’m sure they can handle it. Besides, we shouldn’t want to insult Master Ryandawn.” 

Jyzene winced at the girl’s horrible butchering of the cobbler’s foreign name. 

“I insist.” 

Johana deflated. The septa scurried off to do the crown princess’s bidding.  
\----  
Hours latter after they’d finished Sansa and her entourage left the orphanage and stepped out into the bustling street. 

"May the Mother bless you, princess!"

Sansa turned and spotted her well wisher, a half naked whore laying provocatively on a nearby stoop and waving at her. 

"Aye," called out a toothless old man leaning heavily on his knobby walking stick. "Bless you, princess!" 

“Mother protect you, princess!” Cried out a crone who had taken a break from beating the dust off her filthy rug. 

There was sympathy in their eyes even pity. These paupers pitied her! She’d heard of kings and queen ruling with love or fear but never pity. Her mother would have found their pity appalling but even though it stung her Lannister pride Sansa found it touching.  
Her grandsire was right she did have the smallfolks’ attention. She could make them love her. Sansa smiled and waved to the subjects as she climbed into her litter. A part of her wanted to stay longer but she had a very important appointment to keep. 

\----  


“As I’m sure you know my father has been kind enough to arrange lessons for me with both Maester Pycelle and the High Septon in preparation for my reign.” 

Sansa inhaled the rich cinnamon scent wafting from her steaming goblet of hippocras it chased her guest’s sickeningly sweet lilac perfume from her nose. 

“But I believe that I would be able to learn just as much if not more from you.” 

“Me, Princess?” The eunuch tittered. “I’m truly honored.” 

Sansa studied her guest taking in his appearance. Dressed in robes of rich gold and plum damask and cut in the Lysene style, his soft powdered hands folded delicately in his lap and his bald head shining. Everything about his appearance and manner was designed to make him appear obsequious and non-threatening and get he knew the whispers of the seven kingdoms. Knowledge was his weapon of choice and knowledge was power. He was a brilliant actor, master manipulator, cunning schemer, but above all, he was a survivor. Sansa would need to learn all of his ways to become the woman she was born to be. She would become an iron fist in a velvet glove, just like him.

“Yes.” 

Naerys leapt into the Master of Whisper’s lap. Without missing a beat Varys tickled the ginger kitten under her chin. Naeyrs emerald eyes narrowed to slits and she let out a low purr. 

“What would you have me teach you, sweet princess?” 

Sansa nodded to Jyzene and her cousin started playing her harp much louder than before, so loud that none would be able to overhead their conversation. 

“Well let’s begin with the members of the small council. Tell me everything you know about Lord Baelish.” 

Varys lips curled up into a smile.

“With pleasure princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa’s first big attempt at playing the game failed but I want to show that she has potential and will grow into a major player. Her matchmaking and fostering suggestions are on point. She not only identifies a spy but turns her into a double agent. She’s finding a way to change beauty standards and use fashion for good, which I think is very Sansa. She definitely understands the principal of bread and circuses as we will see.


	12. Chapter 12

“It would probably be for the best if you saw him at least once before the ceremony tomorrow.” 

Her knife squeaked against the plate as Sansa cut into her fried duck egg. She watched grimly as the yellow yolk oozed out across her plate pooling around her biscuit and rasher of bacon. All she wanted to do was break her fast with her betrothed before attending another small council meeting but no, Robb had to bring up this ugly business. 

So far Sansa and her father had been skillfully avoiding each other. The King was busy doing whatever it was he did when he wasn’t ruining lives while she had thrown herself into planning their wedding. But tomorrow she would have to face her father since he would be the one walking her to through the Godswood and giving her away to Robb. 

Eager to avoid his gaze she looked down and watched Naerys scampering across the rushes chasing a floating bit of dust. The rational part of her knew that Robb was simply trying to play the peacemaker but Sansa couldn’t help but feel betrayed by his words. How dare he question her methods of coping? 

“I don’t know if I can stand to see him ever again.”

Robb looked to Brienne for support. They seemed to be exchanging in a silent battle of wills for a moment before the lady knight sighed and stepped forward reluctantly. 

“My princess, after you fainted…I think that if it hadn’t been for the crowd the king would have relented then.” 

“Is that suppose to make it better?” 

“Doesn’t it?” Robb entreated.  


Sansa shook her head furiously mopping up the runny egg yolk with her honeyed biscuit. Even if her father regretted his actions he could never take them back and she could never forgive him. Just thinking about it made her blood boil! 

"What would you do if you were in my place?" She spat out fixing him with a hard look her blue eyes blazing.

He tightened his grip on his knife and sank into his chair defeated. Sansa had him there. Although Robb couldn’t wrap his mind around the thought of either of his parents harming his siblings they both knew that he would destroy anyone that went after one of his pack. It was his fierce protective streak that made this situation so hard for him. He couldn’t protect her and defend his ancestral home at the same time and that made him feel powerless and weak, two sensations that Sansa was all too familiar with. 

“I’m sorry” He mumbled thoroughly abashed. “I just…” 

“I know.” 

And the thing was she did know. Robb didn’t honestly think that the King’s actions were defensible he just wanted her to have what he did, a parent to turn to and idolize but that just wasn't an option for her anymore. Although Sansa longed for it and thought it would make her stronger that she knew it wasn’t possible. She wouldn't be able to see her mother again until after her father's death, so until then King Robert was the only parent she had. Any parent that would try and kill his child's mother and behead said child's half-siblings didn't deserve the title of parent. 

Robb reached across the table and took her hand in his. His skin was calloused and his grip was strong. Sansa sighed as she traced the crescent moon shaped scar on his thumb with her little finger. For the first time, she noticed that his fingertips were perfectly square. He had been a good sport these past few days enduring scores of dancing lessons for the wedding when everyone knew he would rather be planning his bloody revenge on Theon Greyjoy. Seven help her but Sansa was dreading Robb’s upcoming departure. He had been her rock during all of this mayhem. Every time she thought it was impossible for her to feel more alone the Gods found a way to make it worse.

“But just as my tears weren’t enough to make him stop, his hesitation isn’t enough to make me forgive.” 

“I would never ask you to forgive…I just” He trailed off and sighed bitterly. “it’s going to be very awkward.” 

She smiled wryly. That was one of the greatest understatements of the age. 

\----

Sansa sat silently as the small council meeting went on around her. At the last meeting, they’d been speaking about her upcoming wedding so she had felt comfortable voicing her opinion. Sansa had planned on a parade and street festival and insisted spending most of the money be spent on alms and fireworks that would entertain nobles and smallfolk a like. She had the public’s attention and was determined to make a lasting impression on her people. Sansa would need their support since her ascension to the throne would no doubt be very controversial. Plus she loved watching her Uncle Stannis, the Master of Ships, grind his teeth at the thought of wasting coin on such frivolity.

But now they had moved on to larger matter and Sansa was terrified that if she opened her mouth she’d inadvertently cause more chaos and destruction. She felt like an ant walking on the surface of water one misstep would see her sinking into the dark oblivion.  
However, it wasn’t just performance anxiety putting her on edge the Master of Coin was getting under Sansa’s skin. She felt like some flesh-eating insect was gnawing away at her devouring her bit by bit. There he sat pale lips pursed in concentration as the council discussed administrative matters all the while looking at her with those cold green-grey eyes. 

He knew. He knew that while Sansa might appear to be the wronged party she was just as wicked as the rest of the and twice as stupid. Their fates were forever intertwined a price she’d been more than willing to pay when she’d thought it would save her family but now….it made her feel as though she were walking around in shoes made of lead. Every word from his mouth sounded like an accusation a thinly veiled threat to expose her.

Sansa had to find a way to pay her debt to him as quickly as possible. Hopefully, that would settle her nerves somewhat. Should she just walk up to him and ask him what he wanted, or should she just gift him with some title or other and hope that he got the message? Mayhaps she should just wait until he came to her. But that felt wrong like Sansa was making him call her out, plus that would mean more of this infernal waiting. 

"Asha Greyjoy has left Winterfell abandoning her brother.” Grand Maester Pycelle wheezed his raspy voice dry as Dorne. 

Sansa felt a pang of guilt. She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she'd missed the moment when the talk turned to the rebellion and her betrothed's home. She arched her back sitting up straight in her chair. The Grand Maester coughed and wet his throat with a sip of wine before continuing. 

“Lady Stark and the Crannogmen are but a day's march from Deepwood Motte."

"Apparently the Stark boys have escaped Winterfell and the Greyjoy lad is hunting for them.” Lord Varys added shaking open a decorative fan.

Sansa’s stomach lurched at though of sweet moody Bran and little wild Rickon in danger. She couldn't decide if this was good news or not. On the positive Bran and Rickon were no longer in enemy hands and Theon would look weak in front of his men. On the other hand, they were two lost boys in the middle of a war zone. Gods be good, the thought of those two young boys being hunted like dogs by their former foster brother made her grind her teeth together like Uncle Stannis. 

"Are they alone?"

The members of the council looked startled as though they’d forgot that she was even there. Lord Varys shuffled through the sheets of parchment before him with one hand while lazily waving his fan in front of his face with the other. 

"My little birds say that a large simpleton and a wilding woman have also gone missing." 

That would be Hodor, the gentle giant, and Osha, the woman who'd broken Sansa's treasured necklace and threatened her. She reached up to her throat and touched her pendant. It was the only Baratheon token she could still tolerate since she also associated it with Robb. Despite Osha’s dubious past if anyone knew how to survive in dangerous surroundings it would be a wilding warrior. Sansa had failed Myrcella and Tommen but she wouldn’t fail Bran and Rickon. She simply couldn’t.

"We can't except the Northerners to handle this threat alone.” She said her voice clear and direct. “For all, we know Asha might be leaving her brother to go raid the western coast."

The Westerlands had been through enough without dealing with raiders. What if they raided the Reach? What with her grandsire harrying the Riverlands the kingdoms would be even more dependent on the Reach’s harvest. 

A tense silence descended over the chamber. Any military action had to be approved by the monarch and she wasn't queen yet. They couldn’t move forward on the issue without her father. 

"Well, we'll have to bring this matter to the King's attention." Renly drawled fiddling with his new peacock feather quill. Sansa noted that the blue of the quill matched his new velvet cloak. Her uncle spent more energy and coin on fashion than most noblewomen. This annoyed Stannis and Sansa approved of any and everything that made that loathsome man miserable. 

“Are there any other matters to discuss? No? Well, then I suggest that we adjure this meeting and get ready for the big day.” Renly gave Sansa a playful wink and kissed her hand a move that mere months earlier would have made her giggle. 

Maester Pycelle began the laborious and awkward process of getting out of his chair and Lord Varys moved to help him. As Sansa made get up her Uncle Stannis he rose from his seat and stood blocking her way. 

"How long do you plan on keeping up with this nonsense?” He half whispered half hissed. 

Sansa cocked her head to the side and widened her eyes trying to imitate Naerys. 

"Nonsense, uncle?"

"This dressing in mourning nonsense." He said rolling his eyes and gesturing to her black houppelande trimmed with sable. 

Sansa didn’t know how he spoke so clearly through clenched teeth but it truly was a talent. He could have been a great ventriloquist if only he’d been born with a sense of humor.

"Don't trouble yourself with matters of fashion uncle." She replied forcing a smile as she rose from her seat. "I'm afraid it's quite over your head." 

Sansa had already decided that she would wear black until the day after her father's funeral as a tribute to Myrcella and Tommen, but there was no point in telling him that. She pushed passed her uncle and walked out of the small council chamber.

“My dear princess” Littlefinger called out after her. She froze in the middle of the hallway. Lord Baelish glided up to her his footfalls as silent as the eunuchs. 

“I was wondering…” 

His hot minty breath tickled Sansa skin. Her stomach sank. This was it the very thing she both wanted and feared. 

“Sansa!” She turned at the sound of her name and spotted Shireen and Arya running down the corridor towards them with Nymeria in toe.

Did Arya know about her brothers’ disappearance? Probably not, judging by her demeanor. 

"Pardon me Lord Baelish, but it seems that there's a matter I must attend to." 

"But of course. Who am I to stand in the way of family?" He gave her an obsequious bow and slithered off.  


Shireen opened her mouth to speak but Arya beat her to the punch. 

"Septa says I have to wear this to the wedding." Gesturing with disgust at the silver and cream damask gown she was wearing and raising one arm out in the air to show off the offending bell-shaped sleeve. "Is that true?" 

Sansa pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. The royal tailor had wanted to cover Arya’s gown in heavy beading and itchy embroidery but Sansa had told him that it would be a shame to distracted from the beauty of the fabric’s pattern and had convinced him to leave it simple. She had hoped that this would be enough to make Arya happy but no, the wolf girl could always find something to complain about. 

Sansa had hoped that the two of them could bond before their pilgrimage to the Starry Sept. Arya had complained endlessly about the planned trip but Sansa didn’t care. She’d promised to look after Arya and she had to get out of the capital where she was reminded of her mother Myrcella and Tommen at every turn. So they were going on the royal pilgrimage together and that was that. 

"Yes," Sansa replied curtly. "and if you wear it without complaint you can bring Nymeria to the feast." 

"Can she eat off my plate?" She countered clearly trying to get a rise out of her prim and proper good sister. 

"You can feed her under the table just like Robb does with Grey Wind." 

Arya sniffed haughtily narrowed her stormy grey eyes and rested her hand on her hip. Seven above, the girl acted as thought Sansa was being unreasonable when in reality she’d already lowered her standards considerably just to be accommodating.

“What do you think of my gown?” Shireen asked sheepishly. 

It was made of bright blue silk with colorful butterflies soaring along the neckline and over her shoulder. It was joyous and youthful the opposite of the dreary wardrobe she’d brought from Dragonstone. For once Sansa’s cousin looked like a nine-year-old instead of a dower widow. Her heart ached for a moment when she remembered that Myrcella had owned a similar gown at Shireen’s age only with golden dragonflies instead of rainbow butterflies. She pushed the memory away and gave her cousin an encouraging smile.

“You look beautiful!” She enthused. 

Arya sighed and leaned up against the wall. Apparently, civil pleasantries were a tremendous burden to her. Ignoring the impudent brat Sansa pressed on.  


“In fact I think that this is the dress you should wear when you have your portrait painted for Trystane.” 

Shireen flushed and nervously shifted her weight from foot to foot making her skirts sway back and forth. The youngest Baratheon was rather taken with the idea of marrying into the Martells and had asked Grand Maester Pycelle to borrow all his books on Dorne.  


"It just needs one more thing."

Sansa pulled the large butterfly ring off her finger and held it out for her cousin to take. She had loved it in her youth but it was a juvenile trinket far too girlish for a crown princess.

"Here." 

"It's beautiful! Are you sure?" Shireen asked tucking her short raven hair behind her large Florent ears. 

Sansa had given her cousin a hair growth serum but for now, it was still annoyingly short. Why in the Sevens names had Lady Selyse kept her daughter’s hair cropped? It only made her stand out and drew attention to the grey scale scars on her cheek and neck. Mayhaps the bitter woman liked the attention and pity she received as the mother of an ill child? 

"Yes, I’m sure. After all, it goes with you gown."

Shireen slipped the butterfly ring onto her finger. When her cousin had first arrived Sansa had set about befriending her to spite Stannis and she’d given her useful information about the Baratheon threats to her claim. Shireen told her all about her double first cousin Edric Storm whom Sansa had decided to neutralize him by asking him to join her Queen's guard. The boy just wanted what he’d been denied recognition and family. 

She'd also provided helpful insight into Lord Stannis. Apparently, the red priestess Melissandra of Asshai thought that Stannis was the reincarnation of some ancient warrior and was destined to save the world. However, this didn't necessarily mean that he was meant to rule, which came as a huge relief to Sansa. She was sure that her ever-dutiful uncle wouldn’t try and usurp her as long as the law was on her side, which it was. However, if this red God spoke directly to Stannis and told him it was his duty as the chosen one she didn't doubt that he would turn on her at once. Blood and familial sentiment meant nothing to him. As for her Uncle Renly....Well, he'd revealed himself to be self-centered and fickle but Sansa couldn't imagine him ever wishing her harm. Mayhaps her faith was misplaced but she had to put her faith in someone and he had been her friend and confidante for many years before he betrayed her trust. 

Sansa watched as her young cousin stuck her hand out admiring the way her new butterfly ring caught the light. She noticed that Shireen had delicate hands with long tapered fingers. You could find beauty in anyone if you looked hard enough and with time Sansa was sure that she could make people notice Shireen's beauty. At first, she’d only befriended out of political necessity seeing her as nothing more than a piece in the game, but now Sansa had found herself growing fond of the soft-spoken and curious girl. She was part of her pack, the small band of people she protected and trusted. Right now it was just Robb and Shireen. She knew she should include Arya, but how could she truly trust someone so rash and willful? Still, she knew that she'd do anything to protect what remained of her family, no matter how unsavory.

\----

This was not what Sansa had imagined doing on the eve of her wedding but she couldn’t let it fester any longer. So after she’d prepared for the next day by soaking in a bath of milk and having Jyzene wash her hair with a dozen different oils and plait it in a thousand tiny braids she set about dealing with Alys Thorne. 

Jyzene hadn't unearthed anything truly shocking about Alys or the Thornes. Her lord father drank heavily and had a bastard daughter, her lady mother beat her servants and was infatuated with her good brother, and she had a widowed aunt who was sleeping with one of her handmaidens. As for Alys herself, the closest she’d come to scandal was being caught kissing a Baratheon guard behind the stables. This meant that she wasn’t being blackmailed but instead was working for Littlefinger out of ambition. 

Sansa could always work with ambition. But that could lead down a slippery slope. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life buying off everyone in King’s Landing with wealth and titles constantly outbidding Littlefinger. Instead, she had decided to take inspiration from Lord Varys and use the truth. 

The door creaked open and Alys poked her head in. 

“Jyzene said you’d sent for me, My Princess.” 

As she turned her head Sansa caught a glimpse of herself in the looking glass. Dressed in only her linen nightgown and a shimmering silk robe you’d never know that she was going into battle. 

“Yes, please sit down and have some tea.” Sansa replied flashing her handmaiden a courteous smile. 

Alys closed the door behind her and cautiously approached the crown princess. She perched herself on the velvet settee across from her. Sansa watched as the handmaiden turned spy took in her surroundings and realized that they were almost entirely alone, no Brienne or Jyzene just the two of them and a serving girl. She licked her pale thin lips ironed out her plain samite skirts with her hands and gave Sansa a friendly smile. Invited for a private informal audience with the crown princess on the eve of her wedding, Alys probably thought that this meant she was becoming Sansa’s confidante and an invaluable source for Littlefinger. Oh, how wrong she was. Kyra stepped out of the shadows and poured them each a cup of nettle tea. Sansa experience with Littlefinger had turned her off of mint. 

"This is Kyra Waters, Lord Varys found her for me.” Sansa said as Kyra placed a thin slice of lemon into the cup of tea before handing it to the princess.

She was beautiful lass of four and ten years with strawberry blonde curls and eyes that shone like bronze. In another life, she could have been the village beauty with all the local boys vying for her attention, but the Gods had put her on a different path. 

“I've taken her on as a servant in my household."

Alys smiled and nodded but her shrewd dark eyes narrowed clearly wondering why on earth Sansa was telling her this. Neither one of them had any reason to be on first name terms with some random servant. 

"She worked as a spy for Lord Baelish for many years.” Finally catching on Alys’s eyes doubled in size and her face turned the color of curdled milk. 

“My princess I swear I...”  


Sansa held up a hand motioning for her to be silent. She didn’t have the time or energy to listen to Alys protest her innocence. They were beyond that now. Kyra handed Alys a cup of tea and she took it with trembling hands. Sansa paused letting both the tension and Alys’s panic grow. She watched the hot vapor rise from their steeping cups of tea for a moment before continuing. 

“The information Kyra gathered helped to make Lord Baelish rich and saved his skin more than a few times. He filled her head with promises and she thought he was his favorite.” 

Sansa took a sip of her tea. The taste was comforting. Mother had always had the servant give her nettle tea when she was unwell. The soothing brown liquid filled her with warmth in a way that wine never could no matter how fine the vintage. She’d need that warmth and comfort to keep her composure through this gruesome tale. 

“Then one day he had all of Kyra’s teeth pulled out." 

The serving girl looked at Sansa expectantly and she nodded her approval. Kyra stepped forward opened her mouth wide and showing the handmaiden her naked pink gums. Alys let out a sharp intake of breath and clamped a hand other her own mouth. Doubt stirred in Sansa’s chest. Was this wrong? Exploiting a tragedy for her own gain. No, Sansa reasoned she was using it to both protect herself and save Alys from a similar fate.

"He said it was so that she could appeal to special clientele but it's hard not to see it as a punishment." 

Kyra took a scrap of paper and a quill from the nearby end table and scribbled out a message. She held it out to Alys with shaking hands. The paper read: I still don't know what I did wrong. 

Watching Alys’s eyes filled with fear made Sansa’s ugly doubts resurface. She had promised herself that she would use love, not fear. But no, Alys feared Little Finger not her. She was just using that fear to her advantage…that it’s sound too good either. She was offering mercy. Yes, that was it! Instead of punishing her for spying or letting her sink deeper into Littlefinger’s quagmire Sansa was offering her a way out. Even so, it didn’t sit right with her and she knew she’d be ashamed if Robb ever found out about this. Still, in this world, you couldn’t afford to be a gentle doe. 

Sansa rose from her seat walked over to her trembling handmaiden and sat down next to her on the velvet settee. 

“You see Alys, unlike Lord Baelish I protect my friends.” 

She took her limp hand in both of hers. Alys looked up at her and Sansa was suddenly reminded of the fawn she’d chased down while hunting with her father in Winterfell all those months ago. Just like the fawn Sansa had her in the palm of her hand.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the kudos and comments.

The next morning Sansa sat surrounded by an impressive array of perfumes and cosmetics as her handmaidens worked diligently to make her beautiful. Jyzene applied kohl and belladonna on her eyelids while sullen Alys dutifully undid her braids letting her luxurious ringlets cascade down her back. Elspeth rubbed ceruse on her face to make her porcelain skin glow while Johanna painted her lips red with ocher. Finally, Jyzene dabbed her new rosemary and ginger perfume on her neck and wrists. 

Her handmaidens carefully laced her into her wedding gown. Sansa had told the tailor to take inspiration from Queen Alys Stark’s crown and as she stood before her mirror running her hands down the gown’s intricate leatherwork it was clear that he’d definitely listened. The leatherwork was reminiscent of chainmail studded with highly polished jet and inlaid with bronze and iron that glistened in the light. But the most eye-catching and subversive thing about her gown was that the front hemline was raised revealing her large flat feet.  


Johanna slipped Master Forley’s masterpieces on Sansa’s feet. 

“The dragon glass studs complement your crown nicely My Princess.” She chirped diplomatically as she struggled to do up the dozens of jet and bronze fastenings along the boot’s side. 

Master Forley had gushed about the inspiration for the shoes and the techniques he’d used but honestly Sansa found them overdone and silly. Still, by showing off her feet during her wedding she’d start a fashion trend. Soon ladies throughout the seven kingdoms would be demanding elaborate and innovative footwear from their cobblers. Sansa had made Master Forley swear that the King’s landing guild of cobblers would use some of their gold influx to shod the capital’s poorer citizens. 

Finally Jyzene rested Queen Alys Stark’s crown atop Sansa’s curly raven black hair. Their eyes met in the looking glass and her cousin gave her a reassuring smile. She looked majestic dignified and fierce like a true queen, a lioness like her mother before her. Today was the day. She could do this. 

\---  
As soon as Sansa approached the entrance to the Godswood she saw him. There he stood the man whose actions had plunged her into deep dark depression, her father. The King was dressed in black and cloth of gold brocade with an enormous jewel-encrusted sword strapped to his waist even thought he would have absolutely no reason to use it today. When he spotted Sansa he smiled and walked towards her. 

“You look grand.”

Grand? Grand! Didn’t he notice her flagrant act of rebellion? She was a bride in mourning! Sansa’s tongue suddenly felt enormous in her mouth and her eyes were burning with unshed tears. They had called him father! He had given Joffery his first sword, snuck sweets from the kitchens to share with Tommen, and praised Myrcella when she first learned to play the high harp. They were kin of his kin! Blood of his blood yet that meant nothing to him! 

“Thank you.” Her tone curt but civil which was far more than he deserved. 

"Ned's lad'll be good to you."

Did he honestly think that she was upset because of her impending marriage to Robb? Was he truly that blind? 

"Yes, he will." 

Betrothing her to Robb was the last good decision the King had made. He held out his arm for her to take. She wanted to rip out his beard hair by hair, pound at his barrel chest with her balled fists. But Sansa was a princess, a lioness and that meant that what she felt and wanted wasn’t important anymore. So she looped her arm through his and smiled as he led her through the Godswood toward her future. All the lavishly dressed courtiers looked odd and out of place in nature there heavy perfumes overpowering the natural scent of the forest. Sansa chose to ignore them and instead fixed her gaze on Robb.

He looked ever so handsome in his fine ivory and cloth of silver doublet lined with ermine and his wolf shaped epaulets. The dappled light illuminated his auburn hair and caught the warmth in his summer blue eyes. Sansa blushed and looked down flustered by the intensity of his gaze. She noticed fearsome Grey Wind sitting dutifully at his side. The beast was focused solely on her as though he somehow sensed the importance of the occasion. 

The High Septon cleared his throat and began intoning the seven vows and seven promises that both Sansa’s parents had broken thousands of times. She wondered if at the time they had known that they would break their vows. She had heard that her parents had been marvelous, a union between the most beautiful lord and lady in the realm yet it had all gone horribly wrong. Had there been hope? Could it have worked if they had tried or were they doomed from the start? Aegon the Conqueror had loved both his sisters so it might have been possible for her mother to love both Jaime and the King and for her father to love both her mother and Lyanna. Had they even tried? If so when had they given up and why?

By the time she came out of her ruminations the wedding song was being sung and her father was clumsily removing her maiden’s cloak. Robb swept the cloak bearing Sansa’s royal crest around her shoulders. He leaned forward closing the golden clasp around her delicate throat and brushed his lips against her cheek making her shiver.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband.”

For a second it was a dutiful peck but then she parted her lips and it blossomed into something more. His hands sunk down to her hips and hers rose to settle on his chest. He was ever so warm and tasted like cloves and cinnamon.

Every bell in King’s Landing began to toll. Sansa jerked away from Robb and suddenly felt faint. The last time the bells had tolled it was for her siblings' executions. The ground was spinning beneath her and blood was pounding in her ears.

“Sansa.” Robb whispered softly cradling her face in his hands. 

She grasped his shoulder to brace herself. Sansa closed her eyes and took a deep breath inhaling his scent the familiar combination of cedar wood and soap. She collected herself and turned to face the applauding wedding guests. 

\----

Sansa took in the courtyard full of bustling people getting ready for the parade. Squires preparing their knights finest steads and making sure their armor gleamed. Festively dressed pipers, drummers, and trumpeters noisily tuning their instruments. Jugglers strapping themselves into their stilts, the pyromancers straightening their long crimson robes and barking orders at their apprentices, and Sansa’s servants dressed in their royal livery collecting their baskets of alms. This was happening. She had made this happened. She should she feel proud of herself but somehow she didn’t. It was like her heart had forgotten how to process happy feelings. 

“Now, you’re sure this is safe.” 

Sansa fought the urge to roll her eyes. How many times had they been over this? Why was he even here to send them off? It’s not like he cared. Well, anything to avoid going to the feast and having to celebrate. 

“Yes uncle, The King’s Guard with ride out in front of us, and we’ll be surrounded by my father’s men.” She gestured to the scores of Baratheon knights decked out in all their finery carrying huge banners with her royal seal. 

“Besides we have Brienne.” Robb added smiling at the lady knight who was proudly wearing the suit of armor Sansa had commissioned for her and holding out a purple and blue shield covered in moons suns and stars. 

“For Seven’s sake Stannis let the girl live a little.” The king teased playfully elbowing his brother in his side making him flinch and scowl.

“I’ve got a surprise for you all.” He added waving to a nearby squire who immediately scuttle off to do his bidding.  


She arched a single eyebrow and Robb knit his brow. The last time he’d surprised Sansa it was with her siblings’ heads. The squire returned with a golden chariot pulled by three giant stags. Sansa gaped in astonishment. Chariots were rare enough as it was since most people preferred litter, but she’d never heard of a chariot pulled by anything but horses. 

“I had Master Aeddan start training the bucks before we left for Winterfell. I figured they’d made a fine wedding present.” 

Sansa noticed that there were garlands of golden bell and jonquils wrapped around the chariot’s reins and the stags’ antlers. Yellow jonquils, her favorite flower since childhood. The name of her favorite heroine and the name she’d given her horse. Had her father remembered? No, it was probably just a coincidence. That would be the sort of thing a loving attentive father would do, not a murderous one. Still, the stags were magnificent with their glossy coats, bright dark eyes, and jingling bells. They would be far grander than the palfreys the newly weds had planned on riding. 

“Thank you, father.” Sansa said ducking her head in acknowledgment. Her words were polite but she couldn’t force her usual lilt into her voice. 

“I’m sure they’ll impress the crowd.” 

Something flickered across his dark blue eyes. Sadness? Regret? Shame? Sansa wasn’t sure but it was gone in a flash. 

“Well, I’d better go get the feast started!” He clapped Robb on the shoulder so hard that he winced. 

“Come on Stannis, I don’t want to see you without a goblet in your hand all night!” He wrapped an arm around his younger brother and led him back into the castle. 

Sansa reached out and traced her official royal crest craved into the chariot, a stag with a crown on its head and a fierce direwolf. It was the symbol of the new family she and Robb would create together. 

“Come one the parade’s starting.” Robb said as he took her hand. 

They clambered awkwardly into the chariot Sansa struggling to maneuver the long train of her dress without wrinkling it, and Robb constantly getting tangled in his long and heavy cloak. Once they finally got settled Sansa realized that they had another potential problem. 

“I’ve never driven one of these things before have you?” 

“No, but I’ve driven a cart before and it can’t be that different.” Robb replied taking the chariot’s reins with confidence.

She hoped he was right because the last time they needed was to lose control of the chariot and derail the carefully laid out parade route.  
Sansa noticed Grey Wind sitting in the courtyard looking forlorn. 

“Let’s bring him with us.” 

This way they would have both their sigils together, a living embodiment of her crest and their new union. A broad grin flashed across Robb’s face. She knew her suggestion meant a lot to him. Most people in King’s Landing feared the Starks’ direwolves but Sansa refused to hide them away. Grey Wind was a part of Robb and he would be respected as her future Prince Consort. 

“Come on in boy!” Robb called. The direwolf bounded into the chariot and wormed his way between the couple. 

Rusty chains squeaked loudly as the portcullis was slowly raised and she caught her first glimpse at the throngs of people waiting for them outside the Red Keeps’s walls. Robb made a clicking noise with his tongue and jingled the reins and sure enough, the stags started pulling their chariot forward towards the bright sunlight and deafening noise. 

Sansa smiled and waved as the cheering and jostling crowd. It seemed like the entire city had come out to see them, women and children, crusty sailors and swarthy sell swords, merchants and masons, bakers and beggars. One day they would all be her responsibility. Her servants handed out coins and hearty loaves of bread with her royal crest baked on the people in the crowd. 

The parade was made up of knights on palfreys carrying billowing banners, musicians, gymnasts, acrobats, dancers, pyromancers and jugglers on stilts making them as tall as giants yet somehow she and Robb were the center of attention. Sansa’s mother used to accuse her of always wanting to be the center of attention but honestly this was overwhelming. Her head ached from all the bright light and cacophonous noise of the musicians and the cheering crowd. The sun was pounding down on her and what with her black gown and thick velvet cloak she was already getting overheated and sweaty. Her crown felt too heavy and was beginning to pinch her brow. But today wasn’t about her, it was about creating a grand spectacle for the smallfolk to enjoy and remember. She had to appear like a heroine from a song, not a frightened girl, a lioness not a doe. So Sansa buried her hand in Grey Wind’s rough letting the warmth of his course fur ground her as she beamed and enthusiastically waved to the throngs of people. 

Robb hadn’t really had a chance to explore King’s Landing so as the parade snaked through the city Sansa took the opportunity to show him the sights all be it at a distance. She pointed out the Guildhall of the Alchemists and whispered stories about the Dragonpit as they rode up Rhaney’s Hill. 

“It’s enormous.” He whispered to her a hint of awe in this voice. 

"When I'm queen I want it to become famous for something other than it’s stench." 

"Aye, it's the kind of smell you can taste. But can anything be done about it?" 

"I don't know. I'm not sure anyone's ever tried before." 

The parade ran through areas that even Sansa hadn’t been to before like the Street of Silk, Reeking Lane and the Street of Flour. She’d only been to the orphanage in Flea Bottom so seeing the rest of the slums was eye opening. As they rode passed The Great Sept it suddenly occurred to Sansa that many of the well-wishers calling out her name and waving makeshift flags were the very same people who had roared with delight when Myrcella and Tommen had been beheaded less than a month ago. Sansa felt as though someone had poured a bucket of snow down her back. How could they be so fickle? How could they claim to love her and rejoice in her happiness when they’d taken such pleasure in her pain? Her head was pulsating in time with the drums and she was starting to feel faint. Robb reached out and entangled his fingers with hers in Grey Wind’s fur. 

“We’re almost done.” He reassured her. 

Sansa leaned up against him and took a deep breath through her mouth to avoid inhaling the city’s signature stench. She had to push through the pain. She had to be the lioness that her mother had raised her put to be and a true lioness was resilient. If Sansa let her emotions take over she’d be letting “them” win. She had to focus on her endgame, making the people love her and making her father pay. Sansa continued to smile and wave at the crowd even blowing them kisses pretending these strangers were, in fact, her dearest friends until they finally returned to the Red Keep. 

Sansa had arranged for all day entertainment throughout the city, a troupe of musicians and dancing in Cobbler’s square, jousting dwarves along the Street of the Sisters, fortunetellers, puppeteers, jesters and mummers in the Fishmonger’s square, and knife throwers, games of chance, wrestling and archery competitions by the harbor. This was going to be a day that people told their grandchildren about. But the newlywed royal couple wouldn’t be attending any of those events instead they’d be a court with their supposed “nearest and dearest.” At this point, Sansa would have felt more comfortable with the beggars and sellswords. 

\---

“Presenting Crown Princess Sansa Baratheon and her husband Robb of Winterfell!” The herald announced in his deep booming voice as Sansa and her new husband joined the feast taking their places at the high table. 

The nobles rose from their seats at the various banquet tables and bowed deeply to them. Sansa smiled and motioned for them to resume eating. As she took her seat she cased her eyes around the high table. Her cousin Shireen looked lovely and was chatting animatedly with Prince Jalabhar Xho who was resplendent in his finest plumage. When she glanced in the other direction and spotted her good sister and had to stifle a gasp. 

Arya wasn’t wearing the gown that Sansa had commissioned especially for the wedding instead she was dressed in a leather jerkin and woolen breeches. The little brat was dressed like a man in front of the entire court! This was utterly humiliating! What had Sansa done to deserve this slight? She had tried, the Seven knew she had tried, making the gown simple and in Stark colors but no! That wasn’t enough to please the wannabe urchin!

“Why isn’t your sister wearing her gown?” Sansa hissed through her teeth forcing a smile for the benefit of the court. Robb sighed deeply and sat down in the ornate chair next to his new wife. 

"She…well she hacked it to pieces with her sword and threw it into the privy.” 

“What!” 

The nerve of that ingrate! Also since when did Arya have a sword? Giving a child like that a weapon seemed like a terrible idea. 

“We're lucky she's here at all.” Robb whispered ruefully suddenly looking far older than his years. 

“After she found out about Bran and Rickon’s disappearance she locked herself in her room and refused to come out. It took me quite a while to talk her into coming."

Sansa’s righteous indignation disappeared in an instant leaving her feeling like a spoiled and petulant child. Arya had far more on her mind than ruining her brother’s wedding feast. But still, literally anything in her wardrobe would have been more appropriate than what she was wearing right now and Arya had to know that. The Stark girl was clearly rebelling but was it against Sansa? She could puzzle that out later right now she needed to comfort Robb as best she could. She found his hand his under the high table interlaced their fingers and ran her thumb over the inside of his wrist. 

“I’m sorry about your brothers. But your people are loyal to the bone any northern that finds them will surely give them shelter.” 

Robb nodded and stirred the bowl of shrimp and persimmon soup a servant had just placed in front of him. 

“I know, but that’s small comfort. I just feel so…” 

“Powerless.” 

“Exactly.” 

She tucked a stray curl behind his ear and gave him a sad understanding smile. What was the point of all this wealth status and supposed power if they couldn’t use it to protect the ones they loved? 

Arya took a chunk of lamb from her golden plate and flung it into the air. Nymeria leaped up from underneath the table catching the morsel between her giant jaws with a vicious chomp. Several noblewomen gasped but their husbands were too enthralled by the exotic dancers’ gyrating bodies to take notice. Sansa rolled her eyes and tutted. She was making an even bigger spectacle of herself! Robb laughed and shook his head. She’d have to find a way to get along with her good sister for her husband’s sake. 

The newly wed royal couple feed each other spun-sugar unicorns, cream swans, and Tyroshi honey fingers, and trying desperately to ignore the raucous festivities and forget the world around them if only for a few moments. As Sansa spooned leche of brawn, spiced with cinnamon cloves sugar and almond milk she noticed the Great Lion approaching them wearing a rich burgundy doublet with gold inlay a bejeweled lion brooch clasped at his throat. He looked the way a king was meant to, she thought, not like her fool of her father with all his bravado and posturing. 

“Congratulations My Princess. It was a lovely ceremony.” 

“Thank you, my lord. It was a bit rushed but we wanted to get married as soon as possible.” 

Her grandsire was a cold stern man and she didn’t agree with what he had done but he had saved her in his own way by snapping her out of her stupor of sorrow. Just because she was depressed didn’t mean that she didn’t have something to live for. Life was about far far more than just being happy, it was about duty, honor, family and legacy. 

“Indeed,” He replied eyeing Robb up and down as if he were a stallion his master of horses had just bought at the market. 

“you have to start begetting heir for both the Iron Throne and Casterly Rock so there’s no time to waste.” 

Robb looked decidedly uncomfortable and squirmed in his chair. Sansa suddenly found herself overcome with emotion. This great man was putting so much faith in her. 

“I won’t disappoint you.” Her voice was thin but sure and steady. 

“All our children will be loins.” 

“I know.” An intense yet unreadable emotion flashed around her grandfather’s face. And just like that, it vanished and he glided off to speak with her Uncle Renly. 

“Here have some of your favorite.” Robb suggested offering her a forkful of luscious sugary lemon cake.

Sansa immediately thought of poor little Tommen stuffing his face with the lemon cakes she’d smuggled to him in the black cell. The forkful of lemon cake looked succulent and smelled delicious but she knew that if she ate it the cake would turn to ash in her mouth. 

“I think it’s time to start the dancing.” 

Her fierce northern husband suddenly looked panicked. Several weeks ago Sansa had asked Varys to find instructors to teach her and Robb several dances from Essos so that they could debut them at their wedding feast and wow the whole court. Sansa Robb was graceful in the training yard but felt ill at ease and self-conscious when dancing. She kept reassured him that he was a fine dancer but he knew that all the southron lords had far more practice and training and was worried he’d look foolish. It was all it his head and now Sansa was going to prove it to him. 

“Are you ready?” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” He countered before devouring the forkful of lemon cake himself and draining the rest of his goblet of Dornish red. 

The royal couple rose and silence immediately fell over the hall. 

“My lords and ladies, my husband and I have learned several dances from the far east and we would like to share them with you.” 

A wave of excited tittered surged through the courtiers. Robb took her hand and lead her out onto the dance floor. They took their places for the start of the first dance, holding hands and facing out towards their audience. 

“You can do this.” She whispered under her breath. 

Robb gulped making his Adam’s apple bob. It would be fine, she told herself. Besides, no one at court knew the knew the steps of even if they messed up no one would notice. Sansa nodded to the musicians and they started playing the Bravosi piece. 

One two three, one two three, one two three. They glided across the floor dancing in concentrate circles, the picture of stately grace. Then three spring steps, a hop, they clapped their hands together and started the whole process over again. Both of them had to quickly switch from bouncing on the balls of their feet to balancing on the tips of their toes. The fancy footwork was perfect for showing off Master Forley’s shoes. The flute became to play and Robb bent down on one knee just as the instructor had taught him. Sansa turned to face their guests and danced around her new husband swishing her skirts about and clicking her heels together on every third beat. Once she’d circled him three times she curtseyed to Robb and he stood up signaling the end of the dance. They'd gotten the easy one out of the way. 

The drummers switched from the tambourine to steel drums and the band started up again. Robb grinned he was gaining confidence and the Myrish dance was his favorite. They both moved into their starting positions, Sansa with her hands extended over her head and linked together to form a circle and Robb with one hand on his hip both knees bend and his toes pointed out. They pranced about to the upbeat music’s merry tempo performing athletic leaps jumps and hops and stamping their feet in time with the drumbeat. Robb held out his right arm and leaped towards her. When he landed he stamped his feet on the floor in time with the drumbeat reminding Sansa of an impatient stallion.

Then Robb took Sansa’s hand and spun her around. As she twirled her skirts swirled dramatically around her. She loved this part. Throughout the dance, they separated and reunited again and again. Each time he spun her around and each time she felt more and more giddy. By the time the music ended Sansa was as dizzy and lightheaded.

She tried to catch her breath and steadied herself. It was time for the final dance, the one from Varys’s homeland of Lys. Unlike Westorsi court dances or the dances they’d performed earlier this dance required the partners to remain touching in one way or another almost the entire time. Varys had described it as a dance of seduction. At first, Sansa had been reluctant to include it. She wanted to start a trend, not a scandal. However, in the end, she relented after all whole point was to show the courtiers something new and different and the dance was definitely different. 

They struck their starting posses Sansa facing away from her husband with her legs spread farther apart than they’d ever been in public and Robb standing on one leg with his arms extended. Sansa thought he looked a bit like a heron about to strike. When the music started up again Robb leaped and twirled across the floor towards her. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back flush against his chest. Sansa rolled both her neck and hips in rhyme with the music as Robb guided her across the floor his hands firms attached to her hips. She felt wicked and sensual slithering like a serpent in front of nobles. But just like with the smallfolk Sansa needed to give her court something memorable to tell their grandchildren about. 

Robb turned her around so that she was facing him and they started dancing in the opposite direction. He took hold of her below her busk with one hand while the other remained on her hip Sansa placed her hand atop Robb’s shoulder and looked off to the side exposing her neck to him.  
They sprung onto their outside foot lifting the inside foot forward just as their instructor had taught them. On the second beat, they took a longer step, stepping smoothly onto their inside foot and staying close to the ground. Sansa sprung up into the air arching her back and thrusting her right arm above her head. Robb lifted her up and held her in place with his arms and by positioned the thigh of his free leg under her thighs to steady her. He turned her around in a full circle before letting her down on the last beat of the measure. They started the whole routine over again this time at a slightly faster pace. Each measure moved faster and faster building up to the crescendo when Sansa sprung up into the air and threw her head back as Robb lean forward miming biting her neck. 

The wedding guests burst into wild applause. She could make out the King and Uncle Renly’s voices as they shouted out praise. Sansa panted trying to catch her breath as Robb gingerly set her down. 

“I told you-you could do it!” She whispered in his ear.

Robb blushed sheepishly and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. She bowed and he curtseyed before walking off to the sidelines hand in hand. 

“Thank you for that. I know you found all the practice a bit tedious.”

“It wasn’t so bad.” He said with a cheeky grin and a casual shrug. “They were much better that my dance lessons at home with Arya.” 

She laughed imagining Robb dancing with the much shorter Arya as she squashed his toes and grumbled. The band started playing the music to the Bravosi dance and several nobles set about trying to imitate the dance they'd just seen. 

“I’ll get you something to drink, wait here.” Robb said and walked over to the high table to fetch her a refreshment. 

Sansa took a deep breath and tried to take it all in. She felt simultaneously drained relieved and disappointed. It was done! Finally done. After all the preparation and worry they were finally married. But now that Sansa no longer had the frivolous distraction of a royal wedding she’d have to look forward to the future, a future without her true family, a future filled with deceit, treachery, and false friends. She’d have to find a way to kept her rage from turning to bile while simultaneously securing her birthright and restoring the Lannister’s good name. It had all seemed so much more manageable when she was just focusing on the wedding. 

“It’s good to see you feeling better niece.” 

Sansa turned at the voice and looked down to see her Uncle Tyrion dressed in a blood red leather doublet with golden trim. 

“Lord Tyrion, the other day I…” 

“Please there’s no need to explain.” He interrupted. “It’s good to know that underneath that queenly mask you’re still my young niece.” 

Sansa wasn’t so sure about that. She definitely didn’t feel like the same person but it was best to save that line of thinking for another day. 

“Still feeling overwhelmed by your birthright?” 

Her first instinct was to immediately deny any weakness but he was family and relatively harmless, so she decided to test the waters with a small tidbit of honesty. 

"Well, I fear that unlike my peers I was not born with a devious disposition.” Sansa replied trying to play it off as a jape and commentary on the state of the court rather than her own faults. 

“Deviousness can always be learned.” The Imp countered with a wave of his arm making the wine slosh around in his goblet. Emboldened Sansa continued. 

“I have no one I can trust." 

Ah, the truth cut too close to the bone. On the surface, it could look as if she was complaining about the sycophantic nobles and two-faced social climbers but it was much deeper than that. Sansa couldn’t trust the man her father had turned into, a bitter hedonist with a temper as changeable as and furious as the stormland winds. She couldn’t trust her calculating grandsire who took pragmatism to a new inhumane level. And most surprising of all she couldn’t trust her favorite uncle who turned out to be nothing but a self-absorbent fair weather friend. Right now Renly was sitting next to Ser.Loras laughing with delight at the antics of a fire-eating acrobat acting as if his niece and nephews hadn’t been killed less than a month ago. 

“Do you trust me?” 

Sansa opened her mouth then closed it again. Honestly, she wasn’t sure. Anyway, there were many kinds of trust. Sansa didn’t think her uncle a malicious liar but she wasn’t convinced that she could rely on him. He was a drunken whoremonger after all. She also wasn’t certain how the Imp truly felt about anything since he always played the part of the jester.

“Let me rephrase that. Do you believe that I am truthful?”

“Yes.” 

“Well, then if it pleases you, my princess, I swear to serve you by always telling you the truth.” 

“Father won’t let me give you a position.” 

“Then make me your jester.” He countered half japing half serious as the grave. 

“I can apprentice under Moon boy while my Westerling wife serves as one of your handmaidens.” 

He gestured to the royal fool who was busy juggling large multicolored glass orbs filled with swirling smoke and singing a cheeky song about a demon monkey with a crossbow. Sansa looked over to where Tyrion’s wife was sitting clearly overwhelmed and feeling out of place. What was her name again? Joan? Jeyne? Jocelyn? Anyway, she was a pretty thing with wavy chestnut hair forced into a tortured up do wearing a pale pink dress and a simple abalone and pearl necklace. She could be Sansa ally at court mayhaps even a spy. As for Tyrion if his advice turned out to be useless she could always just ignore it and having him around would drive her Uncle Stannis mad. 

“Would you and your wife be so kind as to accompany me on my pilgrimage to the Starry Sept?” 

It would give her a chance to get to know her uncle and his wife and decide where or not to trust the. It would certainly make the trip more entertaining and worst-case scenario she’d have some much-needed help managing the ever-willful Arya.

“We would be most honored.” Tyrion replied with a deep bow his mismatched eyes twinkling. 

“Here you go.” 

Sansa turned around to see Robb holding out a silver goblet for her to take. She smiled and took the goblet grateful for something to drink after all that dancing. 

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.” 

Her imp of an uncle winked at Robb then waddled off to join his young wife.  
Sansa drank from the goblet and frowned. She couldn't recognize the concoction it tasted like apple juice mixed with honey and seasoned with cinnamon and cloves. Sansa gave Robb a questioning look.

“I know you don’t much care for wine and you haven’t been able to stomach iced milk with honey so I had the kitchen staff make you something special.” 

His small act of gallantry melted her heart. She'd never seen her father do anything like this for her mother. It was a sweet gesture and an elegantly simple solution to her problem. Because of the fragrant aroma, most people would probably assume that she was drinking hot wine. 

“Let’s get out of here.” 

The king and her uncles had decided that since Sansa was to be Westoros’s first reigning queen the bedding ceremony wouldn’t be appropriate so there was no danger of that. Still, she wanted to get out of here away from all the prying eyes, and two faced well-wishers. 

“What?” Robb’s eyes bugged out of his head. He looked around quickly as if worried that someone would overhear them. 

“But don’t you want to stay and see the fireworks?” 

It had been Sansa’s idea to have fireworks over Blackwater Bay, a source of entertainment that all classes could enjoy. She had even fought Stannis over the inclusions of red and gold fireworks. Captain kill joy had declared that it was highly inappropriate to show Lannister colors but she had argued that gold was a Baratheon color too and that red would look dynamic in the night sky. Sansa knew the fireworks display would be dazzling and splendid but... for some reason she didn’t care to stay and watch them. 

“Not really.” 

All these wedding celebrations had seemed so important mere hours about but now they just seemed silly. It was all for “them.” Sansa wanted the rest of the evening to be about her and Robb. She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered in his ear. 

“I’ll slip out first then you follow me after all right?” 

Robb nodded eagerly making her heart swoop in her chest. She smiled squeezed his shoulder before darting off.  
\---  
Sansa stealthily wormed her way through the festivities trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible. 

"My Princess!” 

Oh Seven hells! Sansa turned around and came face to face with Joffrey's betrothed, Margarey Tyrell. 

“Your dancing was just wonderful! I’ve never seen anything like it. Oh and you look simply gorgeous in your gown." 

As the lady before her gushed and gesticulating wildly Sansa took in her appearance. Margarey was rosy-cheeked and beaming clad in a rich brocade of turquoise and cloth of gold. Her gown was sleeveless and her neckline was far too low to be proper. But honestly, it wasn't Margarey's bawdy dress that bothered Sansa. She was hurt that she hadn't spoken to her since her return to King's Landing. She'd thought of Margarey as a friend but clearly, she'd been mistaken. 

"Shouldn't you be in mourning for your betrothed?" Sansa asked icily. 

Margarey opened her mouth to speak but she brushed passed her before she could reply.  
\---

Sansa watched through the looking glass as Kyra worked silently taking off her jewelry, shoes and wedding gown. She was losing her armor piece by piece. Sansa stood still as a statue while Kyra laced her into a diaphanous white nightgown with Myrish lace carefully placed to cover her most private areas. Sansa supposed that the garment was meant to make her feel sensual and powerful like a Lyseni love goddess but really it just made her more aware of what a girlish maid she truly was.

Kyra had been one of Little finger's whore and could probably tell her all she needed to know about pleasing a man. That is if Kyra could speak and if Sansa could stomach to hear it. Once again she felt a deep pang of longing for her mother, where ever she was. When Kyra was finished Sansa took her hand. 

"Thank you." 

Kyra lifted her hand up to her lips and kissed it. Sansa was so glad that Varys had helped her get this innocent girl out from under Littlefinger's thumb. Mayhaps if she did enough good deeds one day she would stop hating herself and having nightmares of her afterlife in the lowest of the seven hells. Kyra gave her a small close-lipped smile before retiring leaving the Crown Princess alone in her bedchamber. Someone, probably Jyzene had lit candles all everywhere. It songs and poems in sounds romantic but in reality, it just made the whole room smell like beeswax. 

The door creaked open and Sansa whipped around to see Robb in the doorway. He was still in his full wedding garb, which made Sansa feel self-conscious and very underdressed. Robb looked dazed. His mouth was open and his luminous eyes seemed to be huge but that might have just been the candlelight. He stepped inside closing the door behind him.

"You..you look amazing." Encouraged Sansa took a step towards him. "Not that you didn't before but..." 

"Thank you."

He reached out and touched the sheer fabric with his fingertips making her shiver. 

"It's soft." 

This was it she was about to become a woman and lose her innocence. Innocence. That word left a bitter taste in her mouth. Her innocence had been unraveling ever since Ser.Davos had arrived at Winterfell. Sansa could never be the girl she once was. The girl who'd arrived at Winterfell with a head filled with songs and romantic poetry. The girl who would do anything to make her world-weary father smile. The girl who thought her grandfather could fix any and everything and that beauty was a sign of virtue. The girl with a loving brother and sister and a mother she was proud of. 

It seemed odd that after all Sansa had been through her transformation and loss of innocence meant so much to her but for some reason, it blew her away. She was like the opposite of a butterfly starting out beautiful and morphing into something ugly instead of the other way around. 

"What's wrong?" 

Gods, she needed to get better at hiding her emotions. She flushed and looked down at the rushes on the floor suddenly feeling naked and exposed in an entirely different and non-erotic way. 

“I’m sorry, it’s not you. You know that right?” 

Robb nodded his brow furrowed and his eyes fixed on her. 

"I'm just…I want to be the girl I was when we first met." 

Gods, Sansa wanted that so badly she could taste it. She would trade away all the Seven Kingdoms if it meant she could go back to being that girl. 

“But I can’t” 

She mourned her former self, longing for the simplicity of the past. Sansa couldn't go back no matter how badly she wanted to but the future was hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who were hoping for smut, sorry but it just didn't fit in organically.


End file.
